The Awakening and the Journey’s Start

Pursued by the relentless flames and the haunting specters of past torments, Sovenia’s eyes snapped open, wrenching free from the nightmare’s grasp.

She saw the stone ceiling above her; the hearth fire had dwindled, its faint glow flickering across the walls.

As she sat up, the quilt slid from her chest, pooling at her waist, and a shiver traced its way across her skin, causing delicate goosebumps to blossom on her milky-white complexion.

Yet she paid it no mind, for she could distinctly feel the Demon Queen’s pursuit, channeled through the two rules of enslavement etched into her very soul.

‘Damn it all, how could the Demon Queen be so swift?’ she thought. ‘Mere days had passed since that great battle.’

Her gaze lifted, drawn towards the doorway.

Wawalde stood there, his back to her, shouldering his single-edged great axe.

His shoulders were rigid, and his neck flushed a deep crimson, like a boiled shrimp.

“We should go,” Sovenia announced.

Wawalde’s body gave a startled tremor.

“You… you put on your clothes first!” he blurted, a sudden sharpness in his tone. “Quickly!”

Sovenia’s brows furrowed.

‘What does he mean?’

She glanced down at herself, then back at Wawalde’s rigid posture.

‘Oh.’

‘Is this foolish brute actually feeling shy?’

Sovenia pursed her lips. ‘Such a callow virgin.’

Back in the Demon Queen’s palace, it had been a common sight for her demon soldiers to train scantily clad, and no one had ever made such a fuss.

She threw back the quilt and swung her legs off the bed.

A soft rustle accompanied the friction of the sheets against her skin and hair, and upon hearing it, Wawalde’s mind involuntarily conjured vivid images.

He pictured the silver-haired elven maiden’s bare feet padding across the cold stone floor as she made her way towards the fireplace.

Her clothes, hung on the drying rack, were already thoroughly dried.

She reached for the emerald green brassiere, deftly donned it, followed by her undergarments; the clean, warm sensation proved remarkably comforting.

Then came the leather corset; she wrapped it around her waist, cinching it tight to sculpt a slender silhouette.

Next, she retrieved the gold-embroidered long-sleeved top, slid her arms into the sleeves, and fastened the silver clasps across her chest.

The short skirt followed, and finally, she picked up the pair of knee-high leather boots, which, despite their length, perfectly complemented her long legs.

Carrying them, Sovenia walked to the bed and perched on the edge.

The boots’ interior proved sumptuously soft; she slid her right foot inside, then raised her leg high, her toes guided into the shaft, her calf followed smoothly, and she gave the boot a firm tug.

Her left leg followed suit.

Standing, she lightly bounced, like a nimble fawn, finding the knee-high boots fit her perfectly.

“All set,” Sovenia announced.

Only then did Wawalde turn around.

His face still bore a persistent flush, and his eyes skittered away, unable to meet her gaze directly.

“You… why didn’t you…” He trailed off, his words caught in his throat.

“What is it?”

“Never mind,” Wawalde said, shaking his head. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m not hungry, but you need to eat.”

Sovenia strode into the kitchen.

She retrieved bread and milk from the cold storage, warmed them casually, and placed them on a plate.

From the kitchen, she also gathered six days’ worth of provisions: smoked meat, hardtack, cheese, and a small pouch of salt.

She stowed these items into a cloth sack, emerged from the kitchen, and shoved the sack into the massive black leather backpack.

The backpack was undeniably heavy, containing the blazing gold forging hammer and the six days’ worth of provisions from the kitchen.

Sovenia hefted the backpack onto her shoulder; its bottom sagged to her knee-bends, resembling a colossal black snail shell.

She approached Wawalde, patted his shoulder, and offered him the breakfast plate she held in her other hand.

Wawalde turned, accepting the bread and milk she offered.

“Won’t you get more rest?” he asked. “You’ve only slept for six hours.”

“I can’t sleep,” Sovenia replied. “I can feel the Demon Queen tracking us.”

It was true.

She could feel the two brands deep within her soul faintly burning.

They were the s*ave laws left by the Demon Queen, like two unseen shackles that could tighten at any moment.

Sovenia paused, then inquired, “By the way, did I utter anything in my sleep?”

Wawalde froze for a moment.

He recalled the early hours, when Sovenia had been curled into a tight ball on the bed, weeping and pleading, “Don’t touch me,” “Demon Queen, I beg you,” “Don’t torment me anymore.”

He looked at her now; her golden eyes were as placid as still water.

This enigmatic elven princess, so remarkably strong, displayed none of the vulnerability he had witnessed in her sleep, stirring within him a profound sense of pity.

“No,” Wawalde lied.

Sovenia sighed in silent relief, her long, snow-white ears perked up with delight; those delicate appendages, which had been folded against her head from sleeping on her side, now straightened.

‘Excellent,’ she thought. ‘It seems my will remains resolute; even imprisoned within this fragile elven form, hunted by the Demon Queen, even enduring nightmares had not led to any shameful display.’

‘Unlike this foolish brute, whimpering in the middle of the night, “Ellie, don’t die,” “Jimi the Cruel, that monster.” Truly shameful.’

“Let’s depart,” Sovenia declared, placing her hands on her hips.

As she turned to leave, Wawalde, who had just swallowed his last bite of food, halted her. “Wait,” he called out.

“What is it?”

“Aren’t you going to bind your hair?”

Sovenia realized her hair was indeed unbound, a cascade of silver hair flowing over her shoulder and trailing down to her waist.

She recalled her previous hairstyle: a fishtail braid, wasn’t it?

“It’s a bit troublesome.”

“How did you manage it before? It will hinder you in combat; it’s impractical.”

‘Heaven knows, I used to have a buzz cut.’

Sovenia gritted her teeth and said, “I’ll go see to it.”

‘At worst, I’ll simply sever all my silver hair with the [Moonlight Blade],’ she decided. She deposited her heavy black leather backpack and approached the mirror in the corner.

Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, intending to draw the longsword and shear off her beautiful tresses.

Yet, the beautiful maiden in the mirror possessed flowing silver locks.

Imagining herself bald and wielding a longsword—what a stark and unappealing sight that would be.

However, Sovenia did not truly entertain such thoughts; rather, she considered that simply cutting it would appear far too suspicious, and perhaps she should attempt to braid it first.

She raised her hands, gathering her silver hair in both, finding its volume far more extensive than anticipated, instantly filling the web of her thumb and forefinger.

As she struggled to recall the intricate steps of a fishtail braid, she found the process exceedingly complex, and the sheer abundance of silver hair in her grasp left her feeling overwhelmed.

‘Must I truly resort to cutting it?’

Nevertheless, she steeled herself and made an attempt.

Peculiarly, it seemed to awaken a forgotten muscle memory; her fingers moved with an almost divine grace, swiftly weaving the silver strands from top to bottom.

In no time, the waist-length fishtail braid was complete.

She then used the sky-blue ribbon to secure it with a small bow at the end.

“Perfect,” she declared, a small, triumphant sound escaping her.

She couldn’t resist rising onto her tiptoes before the mirror, causing the braided tail to sway gracefully.

Wawalde couldn’t help but steal several glances at her, then nodded curtly. “Miss Sovenia, it is time to depart.”

She turned and moved towards the concealed door by the wall, activating the mechanism.

A seam opened in the stone wall.

“Let’s go,” Sovenia said. “Warrior first.” ‘Stupid dog first.’

Wawalde ducked inside, with Sovenia following close behind.

Before entering the secret passage, Sovenia cast one last glance back at the bedchamber.

The stone bed, the fireplace, the grand door to the training room, the small door in the kitchen corner.

This was her domain.

She had slept here for decades, slain countless assassins who sought her life, and here too, she had plotted innumerable wars, memorizing countless pieces of demon tribe intelligence.

Sovenia closed her eyes, silently imploring the fickle hand of fate.

‘Let me return alive.’

She murmured the plea once more, then turned and stepped into the dim secret passage.