Under the relentless pursuit of flames and haunting memories from the past,
Sovinia opened her eyes and broke free from her nightmare.
She saw the stone ceiling above her. The fire in the fireplace had dwindled, its faint light flickering on the walls.
She sat up, and the blanket slipped from her chest, bunching around her waist. A chill crept up her skin, and her Frost Milk Skin prickled with goosebumps.
But she couldn’t bother with that right now. She could sense the Queen of Demons tracking her through the two Rules of Enslavement imprinted upon her soul.
Damn it, why is the Queen of Demons moving so fast? It’s only been a few days since that great battle.
Sovinia lifted her head and looked toward the door.
Wohard stood with his back to her, holding a single-bladed giant axe. His shoulders were stiff, and his neck was as red as a boiled shrimp.
“We should go,” Sovinia said.
Wohard’s body trembled.
“Y-you should get dressed first!” His voice was a bit shrill. “Hurry up!”
Sovinia frowned.
What does he mean?
She looked at herself, then at Wohard’s back.
Oh.
Is this idiot shy?
***
Sovinia curled her lip. What a little virgin. Back in the Demon King’s Palace, it was common for the demon soldiers under her command to train bare-chested—no one would make a fuss about it.
She threw off the blanket and got out of bed.
The sheets and her hair brushed against her skin, making a faint rustling sound. Hearing it, Wohard’s mind instantly conjured the relevant scene.
The barefooted silver-haired elf girl stepped onto the cold stone floor, heading for the fireplace.
Her clothes hung on the drying rack, already baked dry. She picked up the emerald green bra and put it on with practiced ease, followed by her underwear. The clean, warm feeling was truly comforting.
Next came the corset. She wrapped the leather corset around her waist and tightened it, shaping a slender figure.
Then the gold-trimmed long-sleeve blouse. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and fastened the silver clasp at her chest.
Next was the short skirt, and finally, she picked up the pair of knee-high leather boots—so long they matched her long legs perfectly.
Sovinia carried them to the bed, sat on the edge,
The inside of the boots was very soft. She slid her right foot in, then lifted her right leg high, her toes slipping into the shaft, her calf sliding in, then she tugged the boot snug.
She did the same with her left leg.
She stood up, bouncing lightly like a fawn, her knee-high boots fitting perfectly.
“All done,” Sovinia said.
Only then did Wohard turn around. His face was still red, his gaze flitting about, not daring to look at her directly.
“You…why didn’t you…” He trailed off.
“What?”
“Never mind.” Wohard shook his head. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m not. But you need to eat.”
***
Sovinia walked into the Kitchen.
She took bread and milk from the Ice Chest, warmed them up a bit, and put them on a plate. Then from the Kitchen she gathered six days’ worth of supplies: smoked meat, hard bread, cheese, and a small pouch of salt.
She packed these into a cloth bag, left the Kitchen, and stuffed the bag into that huge Black Leather Backpack.
The backpack was heavy. Inside was the Blazing Forgehammer, along with six days’ rations from the Kitchen.
Sovinia slung the backpack over her shoulder. The bottom of the pack drooped to the bend of her knee, looking like a massive black snail shell.
She walked over to Wohard, patted his shoulder, and handed him the breakfast plate with one hand.
Wohard turned around and took the bread and milk she offered.
“Aren’t you going to sleep a bit more?” he asked. “You only slept for six hours.”
“I can’t sleep.” Sovinia replied, “I can feel the Queen of Demons tracking us.”
That was true.
She could sense those two Soul Imprints deep within her soul growing faintly hot. They were the Rules of Enslavement left by the Queen of Demons—two invisible chains, ready to tighten at any moment.
Sovinia paused and asked, “By the way, did I talk in my sleep?”
Wohard froze.
He recalled the early morning, when Sovinia curled up on the bed, crying, “Don’t touch me,” “Lord Demon King, I beg you,” “Don’t torment me anymore.”
He looked at her now—those golden eyes as calm as a dead pool of water. This mysterious Elf Princess was so strong, showing none of the fragility from her sleep-talking. It made him feel a strange sense of pity.
Wohard lied: “No.”
Sovinia let out a secret sigh of relief. Her snowy long ears perked up happily, those long ears that had been bent from sleeping on her side standing straight again.
Good. It seems my will is strong enough—even trapped in this weak elven body, hunted by the Queen of Demons, and plagued by nightmares, I haven’t embarrassed myself.
Unlike this foolish dog, who cried in the middle of the night, “Aili, don’t die,” “Kimi, that monster”—how shameful.
Sovinia put her hands on her hips and said, “Let’s go.”
***
She turned to leave, but Wohard, who had just swallowed his food, stopped her. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Aren’t you going to tie up your hair?”
Sovinia realized her hair was now loose, a strand of silver crossing her shoulder and falling to her waist. She recalled her previous hairstyle—a Fishtail Braid, right?
“That’s a bit of a hassle.”
“How did you do it before? It could affect you in battle—not convenient.”
Who knows, I used to have a crew cut.
Sovinia could only force herself to say, “I’ll go take care of it.”
Worst case, I’ll just use the Moonlight Blade to chop it all off. She set down the heavy Black Leather Backpack and walked over to the mirror in the corner.
Her hand reached for the hilt at her waist, ready to draw her sword and cut off her hair.
But the reflection showed a beautiful girl with flowing silver hair. Just imagining her swinging a sword bald—it would be such a mood killer.
Of course, Sovinia didn’t really think that. She simply figured that cutting it off so suddenly would be too suspicious. Maybe she should at least try first.
She lifted her hands and gathered up the silver hair—there was more of it than she expected, quickly filling her palms.
As she tried to recall how to braid a Fishtail Braid, it all seemed complicated, and the hair filling her palms made her uncertain.
Should I just cut it?
But gritting her teeth, she gave it a try. Strangely, it was as if her fingers remembered on their own—her ten fingers nimbly weaving, braiding the silver hair from top to bottom, and soon the waist-length Fishtail Braid was done.
She tied a small blue ribbon into a butterfly knot at the end.
“All done.” She couldn’t help but rise on tiptoe before the mirror, the tail of her Fishtail Braid swaying.
Wohard couldn’t help glancing at her a few times, then nodded. “Miss Sovinia, it’s time to go.”
She turned and walked to the secret door by the wall, pressing the mechanism.
The stone wall split open with a crack.
“Let’s go,” Sovinia said. “Warriors first.” Stupid dog first.
Wohard crawled in, and Sovinia followed behind.
Before entering the Secret Passage, Sovinia looked back at her chamber.
The Stone Bed, fireplace, the door to the Practice Hall, the small door in the Kitchen corner.
This was her place.
She had slept here for decades, killed countless would-be assassins, plotted countless wars, and memorized untold intelligence about the demon race.
Sovinia closed her eyes, praying to fickle Destiny.
Let me come back alive.
She recited it silently, then turned and walked into the dim Secret Passage.