The Princess and the Knight’s Misunderstanding

‘The Hero knelt?’

She sat upon the stone bed, gazing down at the man who, mere minutes ago, had pointed a sword at her. A mere twenty-four hours prior, that very same sword had severed her head.

He hung his head low, his short golden hair still conspicuous even in the dim light.

‘Why the sudden surrender? Was my gaze truly so terrifying that it compelled the Hero to immediately kneel and beg for mercy? Could this frail body still retain some lingering might of the Heavenly King? No, that couldn’t be right. Why then, had he been able to meet my eyes and behead me earlier?’

‘Never mind. He has surrendered, in any case. One less hound, one more fool of a dog. That’s not so bad.’

She remained utterly oblivious to the fact that this was known as chivalry. In her memory, kneeling signified nothing but submission or death.

Her face remained impassive as she subtly adjusted her posture, crossing her long legs, the heel of her leather boot gently tapping the edge of the stone bed.

While this small gesture, to her, was a display of power, in Wawalde’s eyes, it transformed into the refined and elegant response of a princess.

“You may rise, human. I shall not pursue your transgression.”

Sovenia spoke, her pronunciation of the common tongue significantly smoother than before, imbued with a commanding coolness. “Provided that you—”

Just then, Wawalde lifted his head, rose to his feet, took a step forward, and naturally took her left hand, which had been resting at her side.

‘What was he doing?’

Before she could even react.

The Hero Wawalde’s lips gently pressed against the back of her hand, warm and dry.

‘!!!’

The former Heavenly King’s body instantly stiffened.

An unfamiliar sensation spread from the back of her hand throughout her entire body, and she almost instinctively withdrew her hand, ready to plunge the sacrificial dagger through the man’s throat.

Yet, she knew the man before her was stronger.

‘No, I cannot strike so easily. Yes, I must kill him.’

As her left brain battled her right, her mind grew hot, and a faint blush bloomed upon her cool, pale face.

The Hero Wawalde released her hand, and seeing the blush on her face, his gaze softened even further. He interpreted this as the shyness of a princess, long confined to her chambers, encountering a stranger.

“I am Wawalde, miss. May I inquire about your esteemed name?”

‘My name? I am Jimi.’

Her mind, in disarray, almost blurted it out.

‘No, no, I need to find a name.’

Her gaze unconsciously swept over her long, slender legs.

“Long-Legged Monkey.”

Wawalde repeated it, a peculiar expression on his face. “Long-Legged… Monkey?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

‘She must be quite afraid of me, a stranger, which is why she’s reluctant to reveal her true name.’

Wawalde nodded in understanding. “Very well, Miss Long-Legged Monkey.”

Hearing “Long-Legged Monkey” uttered from Wawalde’s lips, she found the name intensely grating, and a strange sense of shame welled up within her.

‘No, being called by such a name by this foolish dog is worse than death itself.’

She cleared her throat, her mind racing, and from some forgotten corner of her memory, she unearthed a female name that sounded reasonably appropriate.

She said, “I believe my name is… Sovenia.”

“Sovenia…” Wawalde repeated softly, as if savoring a precious gem. “A beautiful name, Miss Sovenia, one that suits you perfectly.”

Sovenia felt goosebumps prickle her skin, finding it all a bit overly sentimental, but still infinitely better than “Long-Legged Monkey.”

At this moment, Wawalde surveyed his surroundings.

To him, the secret chamber felt rather oppressive.

The walls were of rough black stone, adorned only by a weapon rack from which a menacing greatsword hung.

The stone bed was hard and cold, while a pile of unknown metal parts and an altar occupied a corner of the room.

Four chains dangled from the ceiling, their ends stained with dark crimson, complete with shackles. They appeared designed to spread a person’s limbs in a humiliating posture, suspending them in the air.

Wawalde asked cautiously, “Have you… been here all this time? Do you recall anything about what happened before?”

Sovenia shook her head. “I know nothing.”

“Then, do you know who the original owner of this room was?”

“I recall… it was Jimi the Cruel.”

“Please rest assured, Lady Sovenia.”

Wawalde placed a hand on his breastplate, solemnly vowing, “I will protect you and lead you away from this accursed place.”

No sooner had he spoken than a barrage of clashing weapons and the roars of demons erupted from beyond the door. The sounds drew nearer, interspersed with the dying screams of the fallen.

“By the sound of it, things outside are in utter chaos. These fellows are fighting quite fiercely, though I know not what they squabble over. I shall lead the way in a moment; please be exceptionally careful.”

Sovenia rose, walking towards the wall at the far end of the room. “There is a secret passage here,” she stated.

With that, her fingers deftly slid into several specific brick seams, pressing them one by one in sequence, the entire process executed with effortless grace. The wall then opened, revealing the hidden passage.

Wawalde paused.

“Hm? Miss Sovenia, did you not say… that you remembered nothing? As a prisoner, how could you possibly know of a secret passage here?”

Sovenia’s body stiffened, and her heart clenched.

‘Damn it, lying is truly harder than butchering someone.’

Sovenia’s face remained impassive. Her mind raced, searching for a plausible explanation. However, she was ill-suited for such prevarication, and under the strain, she found herself glancing around nervously.

One minute… two minutes…

‘I can’t think of any reason! Think, you dead brain, think!’

Sovenia’s toes curled tightly against the soles of her boots, sensing the imminent danger.

Yet, her demeanor, observed by Wawalde, painted a completely different picture.

The beautiful elven maiden before him stood at the secret passage, her head bowed low.

Her long silver hair cascaded like moonlight, obscuring half of her delicate cheek. Her brows were tightly furrowed, her golden eyes filled with bewilderment, and her slender fingers unconsciously clutched at her skirt.

She avoided his gaze, as if his question had touched upon some unspeakable taboo.

Wawalde’s heart sank abruptly.

He recalled the owner of this secret chamber—Jimi the Cruel, the First Heavenly King, rumored to be merciless and to delight in torture and slaughter.

Such a beautiful elven princess, confined within the private chamber of such a demon lord… Her seemingly contradictory words and actions, that composure surpassing ordinary mortals, and the anguish now revealed…

A terrible and indelicate thought began to form in his mind.

Wawalde’s gaze drifted from the blood-stained chains to Sovenia, and it occurred to him that the chains looked as though they could secure her feet and hoist them high…

Sovenia noticed his gaze, muttering internally, ‘He keeps looking, is he planning to strangle me with those dog chains?’

Wawalde spoke softly, “Forgive me, Miss Sovenia. It was my fault. Let bygones be bygones; it is natural not to wish to remember certain things. Do not fear, it is all in the past.”

Sovenia, who had been racking her brain for an excuse, found to her surprise that Wawalde had already provided one for himself. She did not understand what had transpired, but her survival instinct prompted her to seize the opportunity at once.

She raised her head with a bewildered look, gazing at Wawalde, and gently nodded.

Wawalde looked into her seemingly innocent eyes.

“That scoundrel Jimi! He must have done something truly dreadful to you! A heartless wretch like him deserves to be sliced into a thousand pieces! I truly regret merely beheading him back then; I should have bound him and burned him alive to ashes with holy fire!”

To further distance herself from the accusation, Sovenia could only nod again. “You are absolutely right. Jimi was truly wicked.”

‘Foolish dog, once I retrieve my head and regain my strength, the first thing I’ll do is plunge this sacrificial dagger into your heart from behind, and see if that righteous face of yours can still utter a word. Then, with my Golden Finger, I’ll refine you into a card; it seems you might just yield a gold one.’

She swore silently to herself.

Wawalde, leading the way, walked towards the secret passage. “Let us go.”

“Before we depart, I need to bring some things,” Sovenia said, moving towards a corner of the room.

There, a massive black leather backpack, almost half her height, lay waiting.

She had prepared it long ago for her two-meter-tall demon body, filled with emergency supplies.

Now, the backpack seemed overly cumbersome for her.

With effort, she dragged the backpack out and opened it to inspect its contents. Inside were three magic scrolls, sealed with wax.

One was [Force Field Orb], another [Shadow Walk], and the third [Ascending Ring Fireball].

They were quite valuable, though rather meager for a Heavenly King; she had spent a great deal in her assassination attempt on the Demon Queen.

However, that was not what was most important. Her gaze fell upon the weapon rack.

A colossal two-handed sword hung there, its broad blade a dark crimson, with vague, anguished human faces seemingly emerging and wailing within its surface.

The hilt was crafted from unknown bone. She reached out and gripped it, feeling a cold, resentful energy. This was her backup weapon, “The Wailer.”

She couldn’t even lift it now.

“Foolish… Esteemed Hero, your sword is almost broken. There’s a larger one here; would you like to try it?”

Wawalde glanced at the ominous greatsword and firmly shook his head.

“No, thank you. This weapon, I suspect, is built upon the suffering of countless individuals. I refuse dark power; my current sword will hold out a while longer.”

‘What a pity.’

Sovenia looked at the greatsword and the armor on the armor rack, neither of which she could use. A sense of contempt for this frail female body welled up within her.

‘A frail body.’

She turned to walk towards the secret passage, but her steps involuntarily halted as she passed the full-length mirror in the room.

The mirror reflected a slender, tall figure. Silver hair, golden eyes, an oval face, and pointed ears.

Golden-patterned puff sleeves covered her delicate arms, a leather corset accentuated her slender waist, and beneath the corset were a short skirt and a pair of long legs encased in leather boots.

‘These legs are so long, though certainly not comparable to the legs that could once shatter a floor. Truly frail.’

Impulsively, she extended a hand and, starting from her upper thigh, used her palm as a ruler, measuring downwards, palm by palm.

One palm, two palms, three palms…

She measured all the way to her ankle, silently calculating in her mind: ‘Very long.’ She then roughly measured her body.

‘These legs are genuinely long, accounting for a little more than three-fifths of her height.’

‘Wait, what am I doing? Am I being vain?’

‘How could that be? I, the Heavenly King, would never care so much about a frail female body. I merely want to know its length to accurately estimate movement distance in future battles; this is a tactical consideration.’

‘So it’s just tactical leg-measuring.’

Wawalde, standing nearby, looked over curiously.

Sovenia turned, her face resuming its perpetual icy expression, and said, “Please lead the way.” ‘Foolish dog, go tear and bite for my head.’

Wawalde said, “My pleasure.”