In an instant, the room meant for secret dealings buzzed with noise. Hearing the Elder’s voice, villagers crowded outside the door, pitchforks raised. A stout woman shook her dung-smeared fork excitedly. Her husband, armed only with a sickle, cowered behind her burly frame. Another young villager thrust forward impatiently, eager to strike.

"Silence!" Aelina’s voice drowned out the clamor, making the Golden Ape beside her ears buzz.

Once quiet, Aelina tilted her head and whispered to Fro, "What’s happening? Does Bella have Thundergrass?"

"How do you know?"

Aelina didn’t answer, her mind racing.

Known facts:

Bella possessed an unknown amount of Thundergrass.

The Elder could supply over eighty kilograms of iron.

Per Demon Hunter lore, burning a Wraith’s cherished life-possession weakened it and summoned it instantly—a huge battle advantage.

Against the villagers, their only escape was burrowing underground.

The Elder would never release Bella. Burn marks on her skirt hem suggested she was one of few who could snatch Thundergrass from rabid dogs and Wraiths.

If she sided with the Elder, the Golden Ape would rage.

But opposing him ruined her plans…

Seeking the optimal solution.

"Aelina, save the child," Fro pleaded, a trace of desperation in his voice. Did he truly see Bella as his sister? He wondered if his sister was beautiful, but alas…

"This is a misunderstanding," Aelina declared. "As outsiders, Fro, we shouldn’t meddle in others’ traditions."

"Aelina!" Fro panicked. "Save her! Forced to snatch Thundergrass from dog packs and Wraiths at her age—this man-eating custom will devour her whole, bones and all!"

"Our tradition is sacred and ancient," the mustachioed Elder retorted. "It’s her fortune to serve. Not every lowborn earns a chance to cleanse their filth."

"Lucky?" The Elf’s face flushed crimson. Little Bella clung to his belt, hiding behind him; he felt its gentle tug. "You murdered her sister, beat her, made a child sleep on woodpiles? Lucky? I’ll stab your heart and share that luck!"

"Fro!" Aelina snapped.

The Elder didn’t flinch. Before the sword’s edge, he stood righteous, thick neck reddening. "Our tradition spans ages. How dare you slander sacred judgment as murder? Despicable outsider!"

Outside, pitchforks clashed angrily. The timid husband behind the stout woman waved his fist. "Go back, long-ears!"

"Kill this blasphemer!" the stout woman spat, foam flying.

"Let this big-breasted, lewd witch die too!" A young farmwife in a white headscarf glared, eyes blazing, at Aelina’s fair skin and curves.

"Only tradition keeps us alive!" The Elder spread his arms like a martyr, head tilted up, eyes half-closed, chest pressed to the blade.

The roar behind him swelled.

Fro stood alone, overwhelmed. The crowd’s noise made him panic. He turned hopefully to Aelina—her face cold, indifferent, offering no aid.

"You… you lie," Fro stammered, then remembered. "Your judgment saved no one. The Wraith outside is Bella’s sister reborn! Why else stone-scars on her face? Her nose smashed to a hole!"

His roar silenced the room. Unease spread. Villagers who’d stoned Bella’s sister exchanged glances. "Long-ears lies," someone muttered.

"But my grandma said female ghosts rise from wronged souls," another countered.

They recalled childhood ghost tales: spirits were always women, children, or elders. And everyone died.

An old farmer raised a trembling, snow-white goatee. "I… I saw a ghost woman. Her clothes… like Bella’s sister’s."

The Elder’s face paled then flushed. His small eyes burned with hatred at Fro. He opened his mouth to roar orders—to kill these outsiders. Reason never mattered here. Villagers owed loyalty to his lineage, not strangers. Only his authority would suffer.

As his fat lips parted, Aelina’s voice rang out. "Fro! Lower your sword. The villagers’ judgment was correct—sacred and useful."

"What?" Fro stared, disbelief and hope warring in his eyes. Betrayal cut deep.

"Lower it." Aelina turned to the crowd. "I study witchcraft, especially Wraiths. That spirit was Bella’s sister—but her soul held undeniable evil. Filthy, innate evil. The Elder knew it’d harm us all. He hired us heavily to hunt it. My assistant is young, inexperienced, impulsive. I apologize for him."

She bowed to the Elder. "I’m sorry. But to save lives from Wraiths, help me find Bella’s sister’s cherished possession."

Fro stood frozen, sword drooping, lifeless. Villagers murmured. The stout woman’s voice boomed loudest: "Lowborn stay lowborn. Seduced the Elder’s son, then haunted us after death."

"I always knew she was no good—a promiscuous bitch," the headscarfed farmwife boasted. "I saw her crush bats for face paste. That’s why she was so pale."

"Yes! She tempted village boys," the timid husband added. "Evil magic—men couldn’t walk away once she looked at them."

Bella sobbed behind Fro, crying through tears, "No! Not true! My sister wasn’t—!"

The Elder eyed Aelina’s exquisite face, laughing heartily, mustache trembling with joy. So clever. So pleasing. Triumph swelled. He stared at the Silverhaired Maiden’s soft waist, ample bosom, fair skin. Lust flared. He stepped close, eyeing her plump backside. Since she’d betray her friend for me, a pat or squeeze won’t hurt…

He raised his fat hand to slap her rear—but a chill struck his chest. A shadow loomed. He froze. The witch’s brown-gloved hand gripped a strange Magic Wand, pressing hard against him. His lust died. He looked up, realizing the Silverhaired Maiden towered over him. Ice-cold, her tone sharp: "I can destroy or create. Your choice decides."

The vile deal sealed cheerfully. Bella fled, weeping. Fro donned his helmet, visor down, watching Aelina and the Elder chat amiably. A blood-stained comb changed hands. Villagers loaded two weapon-laden packs onto the cart. Fro leaned against the stone wall, thin lips pressed tight in fury.

A tug on his belt. He looked down. Bella, wrapped in his cloak, gazed up with red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes.

"Bella, I’m sorry…"

She shook her head, small hands pulling a soft cloth pouch from her robes. "Brother Fro, take it. Thundergrass—for victory."

"Bella…"

"Come back alive." She stuffed the pouch into his arms, turned, and vanished into the dark.

Fro gripped it, knuckles white.

Amid cheers, Aelina’s cart rolled from the village. Fro followed silently. At the first fork, he ripped off his black helmet and hurled it down. It bounced. He roared at the Silverhaired Maiden on the cart, reins in hand: "Your helmet back!"

Aelina glanced once, ignored him.

Fro threw the Thundergrass pouch at her. "Take it! All you wanted! We’re done. Even!"

Aelina caught it smoothly, turned, and entered the cart.

The Golden Ape slammed onto a rock, sword propped beside it. Annoyed, it unsheathed the blade and crashed it down.

After a while, Aelina stepped down with a wooden chair. She sat before him, watching. Fro’s face burned red, turned away, chest heaving. Long silence. Then, hoarsely: "Why?"