Chapter 20: Who Is Crying in the Dream?

Sovinia leaned against the wall, her eyelids heavy as if weighed with lead.

The fire in the hearth danced, its heat seeping into her skin until even her bones felt soft.

Her head kept drooping lower and lower until she suddenly jolted awake, realizing she had almost slid to the ground.

Damn it, I never used to fall asleep this easily.

She stood up and paced around the room a few times.

The stone floor was cold, and the chill against her bare feet helped her stay a little more alert.

By the third lap, she was still drowsy.

She stopped, raised her hand, and touched the tip of her left ear.

“Hiss—”

The wound was still there, and even the lightest touch sent a jolt of pain through her, shaking off some of the sleepiness.

Just like that, Sovinia held out for another hour.

Once she confirmed that Wohard, that dumb mutt, was completely dead to the world, she began her secret operation.

***

Sovinia turned around, her gaze landing on the wall opposite the bed.

There was an unremarkable stone brick there.

If one looked closely, they would notice its color was a shade lighter than the others, its edges bearing faint signs of wear—marks she had left over decades.

She walked over, crouched down, and pressed her hand against the stone brick.

With a gentle push, the brick sank inward, emitting a soft “click.”

A crack opened in the wall, revealing a large hidden compartment.

Inside, a golden forgehammer lay in wait.

The hammer wasn’t exactly huge, but for her current strength, it was already a heavy weapon.

Its head was carved with intricate runes, glowing faintly in the dark, like the beating heart of a living creature.

This was an important relic—one that could upgrade her card.

Sovinia stared at it, then glanced back at the bed.

Wohard was still asleep. But he was lying on his side, his face turned toward her. If he opened his eyes now, he’d see exactly what she was doing.

Sovinia’s heartbeat quickened.

Scenes from the Throne Room flashed through her mind. Wohard, raising the holy sword, bursting through the “Scorch” flames. The blade split the fire, swinging toward her neck. In that instant, she saw his eyes—golden, burning with hatred and resolve.

Her head flew through the air.

Sovinia took a deep breath, forcing that memory back down.

She reached out and grasped the hammer’s handle.

The [Blazing Forgehammer] was heavy—heavier than she expected.

She used all her strength, slowly dragging it out of the compartment.

The scraping of metal against stone was especially jarring in the silence.

Holding her breath, Sovinia kept her eyes fixed on Wohard’s face, dragging the hammer out inch by inch.

She cursed inwardly: “This dumb mutt, why can’t he sleep on his back? Why does he have to sleep on his side? If he wakes up—”

Half the hammer was finally out of the compartment.

Sovinia gripped the handle, preparing for one last pull—

Wohard moved.

“Don’t—don’t kill her—”

Sovinia’s hand trembled.

The hammer slipped from her grasp, landing on the ground with a heavy “thud.”

The sound exploded through the empty room, as if someone had struck a bell right beside her ear.

Sovinia froze, eyes glued to Wohard on the bed.

Her hand hung in midair, body tensed, ready to draw her sword at any moment—

Wohard rolled over, muttering, “Aili… don’t… don’t come… the fire… it’s too hot…”

His brow was furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead.

His armor rasped against the bedsheets with a harsh metallic sound.

“No… no… don’t die…”

Sovinia blinked.

Sleep-talking.

She slowly lowered her hand, her heartbeat gradually steadying.

Wohard kept mumbling: “Kimi… that monster… Demon King… his fire… can’t be put out… can’t be blocked… I’m sorry…”

His voice was tinged with sobs, like a child trapped in a nightmare.

Sovinia watched him for a few seconds, a cold smile curling at her lips.

She’d thought this dumb mutt was tough inside.

Back in the cave, when he faced the Slime King, he was calm as ice.

When she’d listened to his thoughts, it was all filled with her body and heat-filled, wild imaginings.

In a situation that dangerous, still able to let his mind wander like that—clearly a sign of strong nerves.

So what now?

He still had nightmares.

He even cried in his sleep.

Sovinia remembered how Wohard’s eyes had been red at dinner.

He must have snuck a cry in the bath.

A little virgin, after all. Scared me for nothing—I thought he was so steadfast. Not like me, the Queen, who’d never cry in her dreams. Pathetic.

Sovinia bent down, picked up the [Blazing Forgehammer], and hefted it onto her shoulder.

Its weight pressed against her, but she crept quietly toward the Practice Hall.

***

The door wasn’t shut. She pushed it open a crack and slipped inside sideways.

The Practice Hall was spacious, its floor etched with remnants of Summoning Circles, and all sorts of weapons hung on the walls.

The air still carried traces of sulfur and steel.

Sovinia placed the hammer on the floor and closed her eyes.

Her consciousness sank deep into her soul, where she saw the deck floating in darkness.

[Blazing Strike] glimmered with silvery light, hovering at the very front.

Sovinia reached out and grasped the hammer’s handle.

She opened her eyes, raised the [Blazing Forgehammer], and swung it down through the air.

The hammerhead traced a golden arc, striking something invisible.

Sparks flew, the air twisted, and the [Blazing Strike] card shattered and reformed in her mind.

A surge of light exploded forth.

New patterns emerged on the card’s surface, the flames blazing even fiercer, the edges now lined with a golden trim.

[Blazing Strike +1]

Damage increased to 2.5 times her attack.

Sovinia set the hammer down and stared at the [Blazing Forgehammer] in her hand, its glow slowly fading.

The runes on the hammer lost their brilliance, as if drained of all power.

It would need to be “recharged” before it could be used again—either by slaying a powerful enough enemy, or by letting it absorb energy in a place thick with magic.

But this was enough.

Sovinia stuffed the hammer into the [Black Leather Backpack].

The backpack was so large it was practically a suitcase for her now.

She slung it over her shoulders and walked out of the Practice Hall.

***

When she returned to the bedchamber, Wohard was still asleep.

He rolled over again, face buried in the pillow, breathing deeply.

Sovinia stood at the doorway for a while, her head growing dizzier.

She kept watch for another four hours.

When the clock on the wall pointed to six in the morning, she finally couldn’t hold out any longer.

Sovinia walked to the bedside and nudged Wohard’s shoulder.

“Get up.”

Wohard blearily opened his eyes, dazed, as if he had no idea where he was.

“…Huh?”

“I said, get up,” Sovinia repeated. “It’s your turn for Night Watch.”

Wohard rubbed his eyes and sat up.

His hair was a mess, pillow creases on his face.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Seven hours.”

“What?!” Wohard’s voice shot up. “You stayed up for seven hours?”

“Yes.” Sovinia’s face was expressionless. “You’re the main force. You need proper rest. Now you’ve had enough. I’m going to sleep.”

She didn’t wait for Wohard to reply, climbing straight onto the bed, passing over a certain area.

That part of the blanket was still warm, carrying Wohard’s scent—sweat, metal, and something distinctly male she couldn’t name.

Sovinia burrowed under the covers, her head sinking into the pillow.

A familiar feeling.

She’d slept in this bed for decades; even with her eyes closed, she knew where the mattress was soft or firm, exactly how to place the pillow for comfort.

She shut her eyes, her body relaxing, ready to dream of ascending as Demon King.

“Hiss—”

She touched the wound on her ear.

Pain stabbed into her brain like a needle.

Sovinia sucked in a sharp breath, gritting her teeth as she adjusted her head.

That was much better.

The warmth under the blanket was what Wohard had left behind.

A thought flickered through Sovinia’s mind: This is the spot that dumb mutt just slept in.

So she shifted over a bit, and fell asleep.

***

Wohard stood by the bed, watching Sovinia sink into deep slumber.

She didn’t mind sleeping where he had just been.

This mysterious Elven Princess, her silver hair scattered on the pillow, face half-buried in the covers, only one cheek visible.

Her breathing was so soft, as if afraid to disturb someone.

Wohard sighed and turned toward the door.

He began his Night Watch.

But his mind was anything but calm.

He thought over the events of the day, growing ever more suspicious of this so-called Elven Princess.

First, Sovinia knew everything about the past of Kimi the Cold-hearted.

She said it was because she had been transformed into a War Maid, forced to share knowledge.

That explanation was plausible, but something felt off—she described things in too much detail, as if she had experienced them herself.

Second, she was far too familiar with this bedchamber.

Wohard glanced at the hearth.

Her fire-lighting was effortless; she kicked the brick, called out “da,” and the fire blazed up, as natural as coming home.

If she really had been forced to serve Kimi as a War Maid, it would make sense for her to know her way around.

But…

What about the third thing?

Wohard looked at the corner of the wall.

There, a stone brick had tiny cracks along its edge, as if it had been opened and closed many times.

He remembered clearly.

At two in the morning, while trapped in a nightmare, he’d heard a loud noise—he’d thought it was the Queen of the Slainbones smashing his dwarf teammates with her giant hammer in the Throne Room battle.

When he woke, he saw Sovinia crouched by the wall, picking up a golden hammer.

That hammer had come out of a secret compartment, and she knew how to open it.

She knew the password.

She knew the mechanism.

She even knew what was hidden inside.

Wohard frowned.

Taken together…

Sovinia, who are you really?

He turned to look at the silver-haired elven girl sleeping soundly on the bed.

She was curled up under the blanket, her body small and seemingly harmless.

But…

“Mm… no… don’t…”

Sovinia murmured.

Wohard paused.

She was talking in her sleep.

“Don’t… don’t touch me…”

Her voice trembled, almost pleading.

“Demon King… please… don’t…”

Wohard’s heart tightened.

“I don’t want… I don’t want to… hurt anymore…”

She curled up tighter, hands clutching the blanket, knuckles white.

“Spare me… please… I’ll be loyal… don’t torture me anymore…”

Wohard stood there, watching her.

Tear tracks streaked her face, brows furrowed, lips quivering.

“Demon Queen… don’t… don’t use that Rule… I’ll keep fighting loyally for you…”

***

Wohard sighed, a wave of pity welling up in his heart.

Such a pitiful girl—and he’d suspected her. He really had no conscience.

She was so strong, yet had never told him she’d been tormented by the Demon King.

She was so familiar with this place, not because she was Kimi’s accomplice—

But because she was a victim.

She was locked up here.

She had been forced to serve that monster.

She knew how to light the fire, where things were hidden, and Kimi’s past… all because she was a useful victim.

He watched Sovinia weeping softly in her sleep, a hard-to-describe feeling rising inside.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Miss Sovinia. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

He turned his back to the bed and started his Night Watch in earnest.