The Hero has knelt?
She sat atop the stone bed, gazing down at the man who, just minutes ago, had aimed his sword at her—while twenty-four hours earlier, he’d severed her head with that very blade.
His head hung low, but even in the dim light, his short golden hair gleamed.
Why did he submit so suddenly? Was my gaze really so terrifying that it made the Hero drop to his knees and beg for mercy—could it be that this frail body still retains the First Heavenly King’s residual might?
No, then why was he able to meet my eyes before and behead me?
Whatever. In any case, he’s yielded—one less hunting hound, one more dumb dog; not bad at all.
She was entirely unaware that this was called Knightly Spirit. In her memory, kneeling only signified surrender or death.
Expressionless, she shifted her posture, long legs crossing as the heel of her leather boot tapped softly on the bed’s edge.
To her, this was a display of power, but in Wohard’s eyes, it became the modest and elegant poise of a Princess.
“You may rise, human. I won’t pursue your offense,” Sovinia spoke, her Universal Language now much smoother, her tone cold and commanding, “as long as you—”
***
At that moment, Wohard raised his head, stood, and took a step forward, naturally lifting her left hand which hung at her side.
What is he doing?
Before she could react—
Hero Wohard’s lips lightly brushed the back of her hand, warm and dry.
!!!
The former Heavenly King’s body instantly went rigid.
An unfamiliar sensation spread from the back of her hand through her whole body; she nearly jerked her hand back on instinct and stabbed his throat with the Sacrificial Dagger.
But she also knew the man before her was stronger than her.
No, I can’t act rashly. Fine, kill him.
Her left and right brain wrestled, making her head feel feverish; on that pale, cold face, a faint blush appeared.
Hero Wohard released her hand. Seeing the blush on her face, his gaze grew even gentler. He took it as the shyness of a Princess, long secluded, now meeting a stranger.
“My name is Wohard, miss. May I ask your beautiful name?”
Name? My name is Kimi.
Her mind in chaos, she almost blurted it out.
No, no, I need to pick a name.
Her gaze, almost unconsciously, swept over her own long legs.
“Long-legged Monkey.”
Wohard repeated, his expression odd: “Long-legged… Monkey?”
“Mm, that’s right.”
She must be frightened of me, a stranger, so she’s unwilling to reveal her real name.
Wohard nodded understandingly. “Alright, Miss Long-legged Monkey.”
Hearing “Long-legged Monkey” spoken from Wohard’s lips, she felt the name was harshly grating and a surge of inexplicable shame rose within her.
No, having this dumb dog call me that is worse than death.
She cleared her throat, her mind spinning, digging from some recess of memory a more suitable-sounding female name.
She said, “I think my name is… Sovinia.”
“Sovinia…” Wohard repeated softly, as if savoring a jewel, “A beautiful name, perfectly fitting for you, Miss Sovinia.”
Goosebumps rose on Sovinia’s skin—she found it a bit nauseating, but it was still better than Long-legged Monkey.
At this moment, Wohard looked around.
To him, the secret chamber felt oppressive.
The walls were rough black stone, with only a single weapon rack as decoration, upon which a menacing greatsword rested.
The stone bed was hard and cold; in one corner lay a heap of unknown metal parts, and there was also an Altar.
Four chains hung from the ceiling, their ends stained with dark red, and ending in shackles. They seemed designed to suspend a person’s limbs in a humiliating posture.
Wohard asked cautiously, “Have you… always been here? Do you remember what happened before?”
Sovinia shook her head. “I remember nothing.”
“And this room—do you know who its original owner was?”
“I remember now… it was Kimi the Coldhearted.”
“Please rest assured, Miss Sovinia.” Wohard placed a hand upon his breastplate, pledging solemnly, “I will protect you, and get you out of this damned place.”
As his words faded, a clamor of weapons clashing and Demon Race roars came from outside, growing louder, mingled with the screams of the dying.
“Hear that? It’s chaos out there. Who knows what those guys are fighting for, but it’s heated. In a moment, I’ll take the lead—please, be careful.”
***
Sovinia stood and walked to the far wall of the room. “There’s a secret passage here.”
With that, her slender fingers slipped into certain cracks between the bricks, pressing them in sequence with practiced ease. The wall slid open, revealing a hidden passage.
Wohard froze.
“Wait? Miss Sovinia, didn’t you just say… you remember nothing? How would a prisoner like you know there’s a secret passage?”
Sovinia’s body stiffened, her heart tightened.
Damn it, lying really is harder than killing.
Sovinia’s face remained calm, her mind whirring, searching for a plausible explanation. But she was not good at this, and under the tension, she couldn’t help but glance around anxiously.
One minute… two minutes…
No excuse came to mind—think, brain, think!
Her toes curled tightly inside her shoes, the sense of danger acute.
But this scene, in Wohard’s eyes, became something else entirely.
Before him stood a beautiful Elf Princess, lowered her head at the entrance of the secret passage.
Her silver hair flowed down like moonlight, hiding half her delicate face. Her brows were tightly knit, golden eyes full of confusion, slender fingers unconsciously gripping her skirt hem.
She avoided his gaze, as if his question had touched some unspeakable taboo.
Wohard’s heart suddenly sank.
He recalled the owner of this chamber—the notorious, merciless First Heavenly King, Kimi, who reveled in torment and slaughter.
Such a beautiful Elf Princess, imprisoned in the private chamber of a fiend like that… Her seemingly contradictory behavior, that unnatural calm, and now the pain she revealed…
A horrifying and indecent thought took shape in his mind.
Wohard glanced at the blood-stained chains, then at Sovinia. The chains looked just the right length to shackle her feet and haul her up high…
Sovinia, noticing his gaze, muttered inwardly: Is he trying to figure out how to strangle me with a dog leash?
Wohard gently said, “Forgive me, Miss Sovinia. I was wrong. It’s fine if you forget—some things are best left unremembered. Don’t be afraid, it’s all over now.”
Sovinia had been racking her brains for an excuse, but unexpectedly, Wohard provided a way out himself. She didn’t know what was happening, but survival instinct made her seize the opportunity at once.
She lifted her head in confusion, looked at Wohard, and gave a slight nod.
Wohard gazed into her innocent eyes:
“That bastard Kimi! He must have done terrible things to you! Scum like him, utterly inhuman, deserves to be cut to pieces! I regret only chopping off his head; I should have tied him up and burned him to ash with Holy Fire!”
To distance herself from suspicion, Sovinia could only nod again, “You’re absolutely right. Kimi was terrible.”
Dumb dog, once I recover my head and regain my power, the first thing I’ll do is stab your heart from behind with the Sacrificial Dagger and see if that self-righteous mouth can still spout such words.
And then use my golden finger to refine you into a Card, maybe you’ll drop a Gold Card.
She swore secretly to herself.
Wohard strode into the secret passage. “Let’s go.”
***
“Before we leave, I need to bring a few things.” Sovinia said, walking to a corner of the room.
There was a huge black leather backpack there, nearly half her own height.
It was something she’d prepared long ago for her two-meter-tall Demon Race body, filled with emergency supplies.
Now, the backpack seemed absurdly large for her.
She struggled to drag it out, then opened it for inspection. Inside were three wax-sealed Magic Scrolls.
A [Forcefield Sphere], a [Shadow Walk], and a [Greater Fireball Spell].
Fairly valuable; though for a Heavenly King, they were rather meager, but she had spent plenty to assassinate the Demon Queen.
But that wasn’t the point. Her gaze shifted to the weapon rack.
There hung a gigantic two-handed sword, its blade wide and dark red, the pained faces of the tormented appearing and wailing within.
The hilt was fashioned from some unknown bone. She gripped it, feeling a wave of cold resentment.
This was her backup weapon—the Weeping One.
Now, she couldn’t even lift it.
“Stup… Hero, your sword’s nearly broken. There’s a big one here—want to give it a try?”
Wohard glanced at the ominous greatsword, then shook his head firmly.
“No, thank you. Who knows how much suffering that weapon has caused—I refuse the powers of darkness. My sword will hold a while longer.”
What a pity.
Sovinia looked at the greatsword and the Armor Rack’s armor; she couldn’t use any of it now. In her heart, she felt a surge of contempt for this feeble female body.
Frail body.
She turned toward the secret passage, but as she passed the full-length mirror in the room, her feet halted involuntarily.
In the mirror, a slender, tall figure was reflected. Silver hair, golden eyes, oval face, pointed ears.
Golden-patterned puffy sleeves over delicate arms, leather corset cinching her slim waist, a short skirt beneath, and her long legs encased in tall leather boots.
Those legs were long—though nowhere near the ones that once stomped holes through floors. Still so weak.
She found herself, as if possessed, placing her palm at the top of her thigh, measuring downward, hand by hand.
One, two, three…
She kept going until her ankle, counting silently—very long. She roughly measured her body, too.
Those legs really were long, nearly taking up more than three-fifths of her height.
Wait, what am I doing? Admiring myself?
Impossible. As the Heavenly King, why would I care about a feeble female body? I’m just gauging the length for future combat, to better estimate movement distance. Purely tactical.
Just a tactical leg measurement.
Wohard, standing to the side, glanced at her in puzzlement.
Sovinia turned away, her face restored to its usual icy indifference. “Please lead the way.” Dumb dog, now go bite for my head.
Wohard said, “It would be my honor.”