Chapter 2: Meeting the Hero Again

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The blue bird head rolled on the ground, its eyes fixed on her, the severed neck smooth as blue blood dripped down.

The scene happened so suddenly and was so horrifying, but she wasn’t scared. Instead, she calmly analyzed the situation:

The enemy was strong—so strong that, in a single encounter, they killed the hunting dog she had prepared with such care.

She had no time to think about who the intruder was.

At once, she spun around and lunged for the stone bed, grabbing the Sacrificial Dagger embedded in it with both hands. Using every ounce of her strength, she wrenched it free and charged toward the opposite wall of the room.

There, hidden among the stone bricks, was a secret back door—her escape route.

Despite this body being a frail Elf girl’s, it was surprisingly agile. Her long legs moved faster than she’d expected.

But after only a few steps, heavy footsteps thundered after her, closing the distance with a few booming strides, the sound brushing against her ear.

She didn’t look back. With a swift motion, she threw the dagger behind her. It spun through the air, whistling toward her pursuer.

“Clang!”

A crisp metallic sound rang out. The dagger was effortlessly deflected, clattering against the wall in a shower of sparks before falling to the ground.

A gust of powerful wind struck from the side. An irresistible force swept against her calf.

Her legs went numb, her body lost balance, and she crashed back toward the bed. Her vision spun as the stone bed seemed to rise up to embrace her. She barely managed to shield her chest with her arms.

“Bang.”

Her chest slammed into the bed, a dull pain exploding through her. Her legs flew up, then fell back down. The stone bed was so hard she nearly blacked out.

Before she could react, a cold touch pressed against her neck.

A glance with her golden eyes revealed a charred longsword, its blade snow-white and sharp, resting against her artery. A small increase in pressure would slice open her throat.

It was over.

She lay facedown on the bed, completely still. From her experience as a member of the Demon Race, she knew that struggling now would be pointless.

All she could do was pray to the Four Gods that her captor was a follower of the Blood God—at least then her death would be swift, her head cleanly severed as an offering.

The other three gods’ sacrifices always sought refinement in the art of torment.

A low male voice sounded above her, speaking the common tongue—the weak language of Humans.

“Who are you?”

The voice sounded familiar.

She lifted her head, silver hair falling across her face, golden deer eyes rolling up to look.

A face marked with soot and blood entered her view, half the cheek covered in fiery red burn scars. Emerald eyes stared down at her.

He was…

She remembered!

It was Wohard, the Hero.

Fragments of memory flooded her mind.

He was the foolish dog she’d once deceived.

***

It was she who had anonymously delivered the Demon Castle’s map to this Human, luring him and his team to their deaths to create an opportunity to assassinate the Queen of Demons.

It was also she, in the throne room, who targeted Wohard and unleashed “Burn,” enough to incinerate everything, catching the Queen of Demons in the blast, exploiting a loophole in the Rules of Enslavement.

Because the Queen of Demons had used the Book of Worlds to plant two rules deep in her soul: “You must not harm the Queen of Demons” and “You must protect the Queen of Demons.”

As the old saying among the Demon Race goes, if someone can be fooled once, they can be fooled a second time.

Though as the First Heavenly King, she’d built her career on iron and blood, not lies or trickery—she’d ascended atop a mountain of bones to become the First Heavenly King.

In fact, she’d hardly ever deceived anyone—there’d been no need.

Now her mind raced, weaving lies.

How should she trick him…

Seconds ticked by.

Wohard demanded sharply, “Who are you? Can’t you understand the common tongue?”

The former First Heavenly King under the Queen of Demons kept trying to fabricate a lie.

Wohard switched to Demon tongue: “Speak. Who are you?”

The sword pressed harder against her neck, a droplet of blood sliding down her snow-white skin, red as fire.

Panicking, she blurted out, “I’m an Elf slave who was captured.”

Wohard paused for a moment, then growled, “You speak Demon tongue so fluently!”

The cold blade bit into her skin, a stinging pain as though her neck would be sliced open.

Her heart lurched as she realized her fatal mistake. She hastily tried to explain in the common tongue:

“I… I learn… they… teach…”

Her words stumbled, but her face remained calm.

But…

Wohard said, “You’re the most fluent non-Demon I’ve ever met.”

“Maybe… I smart.”

“…And your accent is perfect.”

“Teach… well… very well.”

Turns out lying was harder than killing.

She shut her eyes, bowed her head, and relaxed her body, like a lamb resigned to slaughter.

***

The sword at her neck moved away. The Human Hero behind her spoke: “Forgive me, but I need to check—”

She suddenly twisted, raising her right leg with all her might, aiming a booted kick at Wohard’s abdomen.

Wohard grunted, his body only swaying a little.

Her legs, long as a bow, felt as weak as boiled noodles. In the past, Kimi the Coldhearted could shatter skulls and crack floors with a stomp; now, kicking Wohard’s armor, the sound was like a silver spoon sinking into thick soup—wouldn’t even wake a dog.

She lamented her lost strength, but used the brief gap to roll off the bed, reaching for the Sacrificial Dagger in the corner.

But her fingers had barely touched the cold hilt when a large hand grabbed the back of her neck.

A great force lifted her easily, like a kitten grabbed by the scruff, powerless to resist.

Wohard pressed her down onto the stone bed again, this time face-down. He pinned her hands behind her back with one hand, holding her firmly.

She struggled, but this body’s strength was laughable before Wohard.

She glimpsed Wohard in the full-length mirror beside the bed, his face blank as he raised his longsword, pointing it at her back.

The shadow of death loomed.

At that moment, Wohard’s voice rang clear in her mind.

‘Such a beautiful Elf… hair like mithril, golden eyes so noble… exactly like the princess Agnis mentioned in her letter. I hope she’s not a Demon, or I’ll have to kill her…’

She understood at once. Though she didn’t know why, these must be Wohard’s thoughts.

By touching Wohard, she could hear his inner voice?!

She stopped struggling, letting her body go limp, and stammered in awkward common tongue:

“Don’t… kill… me… not… Demon…”

In the mirror, Wohard’s sword halted mid-air. He asked, “Then why did you attack me just now?”

“I was scared.”

“But you don’t sound scared at all.” Wohard said, “You’ve been calm the whole time, no fear on your face. You’re like a battle-hardened Demon. Reminds me of a certain enemy.”

“Who?”

“The First Heavenly King, Kimi the Coldhearted. When I beheaded him, he wasn’t scared—just cold and indifferent.”

So he really guessed it.

She felt Wohard’s thoughts through the contact at her neck.

‘…But unlike Kimi the Coldhearted, that murderous demon, she seems to have the pride of a princess.’

She lied at once: “Don’t compare me to him.”

Only after speaking did she realize she’d slipped back into Demon tongue.

But the hand at her neck relaxed its grip.

Was lying really this easy?

She grumbled inwardly, finding it all absurd.

Wohard released her. She sat up on the bed, rubbing her reddened neck, eyeing him.

Wohard sheathed his sword, though his eyes still scrutinized her.

He took out an envelope, turning his body to keep it hidden, and drew out a piece of parchment, already yellowed and worn at the edges.

He handed the letter to her.

“This was left by my Elf companion—he died. Can you tell me what it says?”

She nodded, staring at the unfamiliar Elven script. To her, it looked like a bunch of elegant earthworms.

Her mind went blank—she couldn’t read a single word.

In Elven, she only knew three words: “surrender,” “kill,” and “rape.”

Should she make something up? What if he knew the letter’s contents, or could read Elven himself?

Her long ears twitched nervously.

Time seemed to freeze. Their breathing was the only sound in the air—hers light, his heavy.

“As an Elf, you can’t read Elven?”

Wohard’s hand unconsciously tightened on his sword, suspicion flickering once again in his emerald eyes.

Panicking, she reached out with both hands and grabbed Wohard’s wrist—the one holding the letter.

Wohard stiffened, nearly drawing his sword.

She stammered in the common tongue, “I… I afraid… like this… better.”

Warmth spread from his wrist, and Wohard’s thoughts flooded into her mind again.

Agnis’s mission… assigned by the Elf Royal Court… find the missing princess… this letter was written before she left, should contain details… too bad, I can’t read Elven…

These fragments were enough to piece together the truth.

She let go and took the letter. Lowering her head, she let her eyes sweep over the incomprehensible symbols before raising her gaze to Wohard’s.

Her face was calm as ever. “The letter says… The Elf Royal Court… must find the missing princess.”

Wohard returned his sword to its sheath. “That’s right. Sorry, it’s just… you don’t seem like an Elf, more like a disguised Demon.”

She replied in Demon tongue, “If I were really disguised, I’d at least sew a few leaves onto my skirt.” Pity my tailor has long since fed the maggots.

“Miss, your jokes are quite funny.”

***

She looked him over. Wohard was strong—she suddenly felt like taking a gamble.

She could spin a huge lie, claim to be the missing Elf Princess, make herself seem valuable, and trick him into helping her retrieve her head, regain her power, and kill the Queen of Demons first.

But it was a dangerous gambit.

She didn’t know if there was truly an Elf Princess imprisoned in the Demon Castle dungeon. As a general, the Queen of Demons was wary of her.

If they ever met, her ruse would be exposed at once.

But with her current strength, there was no way to find her head. If the Queen of Demons caught her first, it’d all be over.

“Hero.” She pointed to her own face. “I think… that Elf Princess might be me.”

“Huh?”

Wohard paused, looking at the beautiful Elf girl before him, who was pointing at her calm face with a slender finger.

Through it all, her expression remained calm as an ancient well.

The blood on her white neck was especially vivid.

Wohard recalled—even with a sword to her throat, she had stayed utterly calm.

Was this the pride of the Elf Princess? Even in such dire straits?

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Her common tongue grew more fluent. “The letter says the princess has silver hair and golden eyes. I lost… many memories.”

She stared at Wohard. Coldness was a weapon—she wielded it with her gaze. Few could match her in a ten-second staring contest.

Ten seconds… twenty… thirty…

Well, Wohard was an exception—thanks to her frail female body. If she’d had her male body—

“Thud.” Wohard suddenly dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Your Highness, I sincerely apologize. The Demon Race is cunning. I hope you can forgive my disrespect.”

Even in her prime as a man, Wohard had never knelt before her. Now, she’d finally made it happen.