"Ah!! W-what *are* these Elves?! It's over! We're dead! Dead!!"

The young master trembled violently, face pale, shrinking into a corner until he curled into a tight ball—so terrified he’d wet his pants.

"Young master…"

Ryan wanted to comfort him, but his cheek burned with fresh pain. *We’re already dead… Why keep groveling?* Before, he might’ve flattered this rich brat for a few copper coins. But now? What good was money?

"..."

Roland noticed the shift in Ryan’s gaze—but didn’t react.

Minutes passed. After the Elves tossed the remains blocking the mountain path over the cliff, the dragon carriage resumed its winding climb.

Thanks to that horror, the noisy young master stayed silent the rest of the way—though his frantic muttering suggested he was nearing collapse.

"Roland…"

After a long pause, Ryan finally mustered his courage.

"When they let us out… I’ll run first. If they chase me, you two escape the opposite way."

"..."

Roland blinked, mildly surprised.

"And you? You saw what happened to those soldiers—chopped like pork on a butcher’s block. Crushing your limbs would be easier for them than squashing tofu."

"I…"

Startled by the vivid analogy, Ryan still pushed on.

"Either way, we die. I want you and your sister to live."

"..."

Sasha slowly opened her eyes, searching his soul.

But in his gaze—no trace of deceit.

"Abandoned as a child. Raised by a vagrant. No one to rely on since age three. No one waits for me back in that town… But you’re different. Sasha’s still so young. Roland—could you bear to see your sister sacrificed alive?! So… even if we die, let’s struggle one last time."

"..."

Roland’s brows lifted slightly. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a faint, unreadable smile touched his lips.

"Hey—!"

The young master’s eyes widened. He grabbed Ryan’s arm.

"Are you joking?! You’re *my dog*! You die for *me*! Don’t I have parents too?! Two words from him and you’re wagging your tail? How many meals did I feed you?! Ungrateful mutt!"

"..."

Ryan fell silent—then sharply shook off the hand.

His first act of defiance. The young master froze. A heartbeat of silence—then rage erupted, all his suppressed terror exploding outward.

"I’ll kill you, you bastard!"

*Thud!*

Sasha moved. Left hand caught the swinging fist; right hand clamped his throat, slamming him hard against the wall—immobilized.

The young master trembled.

*A ten-year-old girl… subdued a martial artist… before he could even react?*

"That’s enough, little master." Roland sighed with a wry smile. "Keep shouting, and you’ll ruin my mission."

"And you drink too much sweet water," Sasha added, nose wrinkled. "Reeks of urine."

She tossed him onto the floor.

Thankfully, the carriage wasn’t cramped—or his accident might’ve flooded the whole thing. The other children scrambled away, avoiding even a splash.

"You… you all…"

Physically and mentally shattered, the young master bowed his head, silent at last.

"Roland… your sister… h-how… why…"

Ryan started to ask—but Roland patted his shoulder: *Stay quiet.*

*THUD!*

The dragon carriage halted.

A voice outside: "Spirit Mother, thirty-six human children await your inspection."

"Hmph. Only humans… Divine or Demon spawn would’ve had *chew*. But this backwater was chosen to stay hidden. We’ll make do."

Her voice—a chorus of women twisted into something demonic. Chills shot down spines. The children huddled tighter. They knew: they’d be crushed like fruit in a monster’s jaws. Maybe pain scared them more than death.

"Keep heads down. Stay. Don’t move. Understand?" Roland patted Ryan’s shoulder. "Can you?"

"W-what are you doing, Roland?"

"Me? Heh. Just earning a little pocket money."

As he spoke, Roland pulled a brown sword hilt from his pocket.

To Ryan, it looked bladeless—a toy.

Then—

Roland aimed it upward. Golden light flashed, piercing the ceiling. From the empty hilt, a blade of radiant gold *sprouted*.

Sasha punched the crack—shattering a hole through the ten-centimeter-thick roof.

Roland shot out. Sasha followed.

Roland scanned the scene: a makeshift wooden shed, under ten meters wide. Fourteen attributeless transport Elves. And at the far end—the Spirit Mother. A three-meter-tall female "Elf," bloated, draped in finery, rolls of fat coiling her body like tires—a mountain of meat.

*Reduce numbers first.*

Crouched atop the carriage, energy blade gripped tight, eyes locked on the nearest Elf.

One step. One swing.

The Elf’s head tore free from arterial pressure—dead in a heartbeat.

"First… one."

Before the words faded, another Elf lunged—arms open in a deceptively gentle embrace. Anyone who’d seen the mountain path knew: an Elf’s hug meant cleaving you in half.

*THUD!*

Sasha dropped. Her petite, rosy fist struck the temple. The Elf crumpled; skull shattered, body twitched twice, still.

Sasha rose slowly, flicking blood from her hand. A soft murmur:

"Seems this pocket money… isn’t so easy to earn."