The Blacked-Out Name and the Missing Princess

The materials for five silver were expensive enough to rent a room and cover food and drink for a month in a small town. After dripping a drop of blood and swearing an oath before the talking Gray Raven statue, one would receive a bronze Gray Raven emblem.

Sovenia clutched the bronze Gray Raven emblem in her hand.

She sensed that casually accepting quests at the Adventurers’ Guild, as the stereotypes suggested, was proving quite difficult. The human realm, it seemed, had many rules.

Perhaps it wasn’t that there were many rules, but rather that she was simply unfamiliar with them. Thankfully, the ‘stupid dog’ was with her.

Sovenia glanced at Wawalde, her pointed ears twitching instinctively.

Wawalde offered her a smile, as if to say, ‘Yes, that’s right. Only by doing things my way can you thrive in the human realm. I’m so glad I can help you.’

Sovenia couldn’t fathom why Wawalde was smiling at her; she was certain her own face was utterly devoid of expression.

For her, displaying any emotion required both immense will and strength.

It was this very habit that had earned her the moniker ‘Jimi the Cruel’ in the past.

Sir Gernon immediately penned a glowing letter of recommendation. Sovenia read it, noting how it enthusiastically described her as an elegant, beautiful, composed, and encouraging mysterious elf.

Sovenia was displeased. She felt it failed to highlight her unique combat prowess, and the compliments about her beauty were far too numerous.

Sir Gernon explained that these were mere pleasantries for a beautiful lady, then added that Sovenia was indeed quite formidable in battle. Alongside the hero Wawalde, she had successfully resolved the Tall Shadow bounty that had long plagued their branch.

After finishing the letter, he extended his hand to Wawalde, who then reluctantly handed over the silver Gray Raven emblem.

Sir Gernon dripped red wax onto the letter, then pressed the silver Gray Raven emblem into it, creating the image of a Gray Raven with outstretched wings, poised for flight.

The act seemed to drain all his strength. He sank into his chair, letting out a long sigh. “This is the greatest concession I’ve ever made,” he declared.

Sovenia carefully tucked the recommendation letter away herself.

Wawalde said, “Bring out the Demon Queen bounty, miss.”

The female clerk, who had been engrossed in watching the spectacle, startled back to attention at Wawalde’s words. She turned, rummaged through some items with a few clatters, and finally pulled out the parchment bearing the Demon Queen’s bounty.

Only then did she exclaim, “Oh! Are you the hero’s party?”

Hero Wawalde gazed at the bounty, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. Memories of the past, coupled with the current reality of being a direct descendant of the demon race, left him speechless, a lump in his throat.

After Sovenia stated, “We killed the Demon Queen together,”

she looked at the rather poorly drawn image of the Demon Queen on the bounty. Like Wawalde, a flood of past memories overwhelmed her, making it feel as if a century had passed.

She wondered when she could finally return to her former simple, happy life.

Though Sir Gernon was middle-aged, he didn’t share the same “weathered” air as the two young adventurers. He immediately replied, “Yes, we are the hero’s party. The Demon Queen is dead.”

As expected, gasps of astonishment erupted, even louder than those heard when Sovenia and Wawalde had resolved the Tall Shadow quest.

Yet, to Sovenia’s ears, they were mere background noise, like the chirping of insects. She recalled how the male body’s head had slipped through her grasp, ultimately leaving her eternally confined within this elven female body.

Her eyes welled up involuntarily.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, “They must be thinking about their fallen comrade.”

Sir Gernon picked up the bounty notice, spread it on the table, and prepared to write the mission report. There weren’t many words to write, fewer than a hundred, but upon completion of the bounty, all mission reports on all bounty notices would update instantly.

Wawalde immediately stepped forward, saying, “Give me the pen. I’ll write it.”

Sir Gernon countered, “At least show some respect for your elders.”

Wawalde retorted, “I only respect those who keep their word.”

Sir Gernon tried to write, but found Wawalde’s two fingers firmly clamped around the pen. He could only sigh. “You are truly stubborn,” he said.

“If you would just tell me—”

“No, this is for your own good.”

Sir Gernon said, “Let go. I’ll write it myself.”

Sir Gernon stated, “Four days ago, the Demon Queen died. Survivors include Hero Wawalde…”

Wawalde interjected, “And the mage, Mona.”

Sir Gernon continued writing, “Mage Mona, and So—”

Wawalde clamped the pen again. “Do not write any information pertaining to Miss Sovenia,” he commanded.

Sir Gernon sighed. “You’re falsely reporting military intelligence. Do you think I would harm Miss Sovenia?”

Wawalde replied, “I don’t care about that.”

Wawalde continued, “All I know is your previous reason was to quickly inform the rear that the Demon Queen was dead.”

Sir Gernon grumbled, “Truly no respect for elders… Fine, let go.”

“Cross out Miss Sovenia’s name.”

Sir Gernon had no choice but to black out the character “So” and continue writing: “…Hero Wawalde claims his holy sword is lost, and all his heroic abilities are gone…”

Wawalde no longer clamped the pen. He began to briefly narrate the battle, which had unfolded in two stages. The first concluded with Jimi the Cruel unleashing a terrifying incineration.

The second stage saw him single-handedly defeat the Demon Queen.

Sir Gernon put down the pen. “It’s finished,” he announced.

Sovenia came over and glanced at it. Aside from the absence of her name, the mission report was an objectively neutral, emotionless account, devoid of any effusive praise for Wawalde.

Sir Gernon remarked that it read as if describing two stray dogs fighting by the roadside.

Sir Gernon asked, “Miss Sovenia, your name isn’t on here. Should I add it?”

Sovenia looked at Wawalde, asking, “Do you recommend it?”

Wawalde replied, “No, I don’t.”

“It’s not needed.”

Sir Gernon said, “Miss Sovenia, you clearly participated in the epic battle against the Demon Queen. Yet, your name might never be recorded in future historical annals. What a pity.”

“Can it directly make me a Silver Master?”

“No, that’s against the rules.”

“I’ll listen to Wawalde.”

Sir Gernon sighed once more. He dripped red wax and pressed his own silver emblem onto it, muttering something under his breath.

****

Holy Roland Empire.

Imperial Capital.

Silvermoon Forest Embassy.

This building, nestled among human-built stone skyscrapers, stood out conspicuously.

Its birchwood walls shimmered faintly, and vines adorned with perpetually blooming silver flowers climbed the window lattices. On either side of the doorway stood sentinels carved from living wood, their eye sockets embedded with gems, ceaselessly watching passersby day and night.

Imperial citizens invariably slowed their pace when passing by.

****

Embassy, second floor, council chamber.

An elite messenger pushed open the door, his heels tapping a rapid rhythm on the silver fir wood floor. In his hand, he clutched a parchment, its edges still adorned with fragments of red wax.

“Your Excellency,” the messenger’s voice was hushed. “The Demon Queen’s bounty has been updated.”

The Elf Ambassador, seated at the far end of the long table, looked up. His face, like a tranquil lake beneath the moon, betrayed no age; only in the depths of his golden eyes lay the accumulated wisdom of centuries.

“Read it.”

The messenger spread the parchment on the table and read out each word: “Four days ago, the Demon Queen died. Survivors include Hero Wawalde and Mage Mona, and—there is a word blacked out here.”

The Ambassador’s fingers lightly tapped the table.

“Blacked out?”

“Yes, Your Excellency. It looks like a deliberate smudge of ink,” the messenger said, pointing at the blot. “It’s completely blacked out; the original character is indiscernible.”

The Ambassador rose, walked around the long table, and personally leaned over to examine the bounty notice. His gaze lingered on the ink blot for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly.

“He,” the Ambassador uttered the name, his tone flat. “Our informant at the Gray Raven Guild. Why would he black out this word?”

“Perhaps a mistake?”

“Elves don’t make such errors,” the Ambassador straightened up. “Neither do humans. Especially not an old fox like Gernon.”

The messenger fell silent for a moment, then tentatively asked, “Your Excellency, do you think… this is related to Her Royal Highness, the Princess?”

The Ambassador did not immediately reply.

He walked to the wall where a new portrait hung. It depicted an elven maiden with silver hair and golden eyes, wearing a crown of silver leaves, her face exquisitely sculpted as if by the hands of a deity.

Yet, her eyes were hollow, like two stagnant pools.

“That is the Princess’s soul,” the Ambassador’s voice deepened. “From a young age, she suffered from the ‘Hollow Heart’ affliction, losing more than half of her soul. Her Majesty the Queen sought out wise individuals far and wide for this, ultimately confirming that her soul had been taken to the Demon Realm.”

The messenger lowered their head. “So that’s why you dispatched that…”

“Precisely,” the Ambassador turned around. “We sent an Elf Warrior to join the hero’s party under the guise of a secret mission. Their true purpose was to retrieve the Princess’s soul after the Demon Queen was slain.”

“But on this mission report…” The messenger’s voice grew strained. “The only survivors are Hero Wawalde and Mage Mona.”

The Ambassador closed his eyes.

“He is dead.”

Silence descended upon the council chamber. Outside, the clamor of the imperial streets drifted in: carriage wheels rumbling over cobblestones, vendors pushing mobile bread ovens, shouting to sell fresh bread.

“Three centuries.”

The Ambassador opened his eyes. “He served the Silvermoon Forest for three centuries.”

The messenger murmured.

The Ambassador offered no reply. He returned to the table, his gaze fixed on the blacked-out word.

The Ambassador’s finger tapped the ink blot.

“Why would Sir Gernon conceal this? He accepted our gold, he should have reported in detail. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless someone stopped him,” the Ambassador’s gaze sharpened. “There are only two possibilities that could make a man like Gernon compromise: a greater incentive, or a greater threat.”

The messenger pondered for a moment. “Hero Wawalde?”

“Highly probable,” the Ambassador nodded. “This blacked-out name might be connected to the Princess. Otherwise, why go to such great lengths to hide an ordinary survivor?”

“But the Princess’s soul has always been in the Demon Realm…” the messenger hesitated. “Her body only disappeared from the palace a few days ago…”

The Ambassador fell silent.

He looked again at the portrait on the wall. The exquisite face, the hollow eyes, the silver hair like moonlight.

“When was the portrait delivered?”

“Three days ago, it arrived with the news of Her Royal Highness’s disappearance.”

“Too much of a coincidence,” the Ambassador murmured. “The Demon Queen’s death, the Princess’s disappearance, a blacked-out name on the bounty notice—all happening at the same time.”

The messenger’s expression shifted. “Your Excellency means…”

“I am certain of nothing,” the Ambassador shook his head. “But we must investigate. And it must be done in secret. No outsiders must learn of the Princess’s disappearance; this is Her Majesty the Queen’s will.”

“Who should we send?”

The Ambassador’s lips twitched downwards, as if he had swallowed a fly.

“We have few suitable individuals in the human realm. Pure-blooded elves are too conspicuous. We need someone who can move freely in human society and blend in with those humans…” He paused, then squeezed two words through gritted teeth: “A half-blood.”

The messenger’s expression became subtle. “Your Excellency refers to…”

When the Ambassador uttered the name, his tone was like someone chewing rotten flesh. “That half-elf.”

“But she…”

“I know,” the Ambassador waved a hand. “Her lineage is a disgrace. But for the Princess, only she can accomplish this task.”

He walked to the window, his back to the messenger.

“Find her. Tell her the Silvermoon Forest requires her service.”

“Will she agree?”

The Ambassador let out a cold laugh. “She will. Half-bloods crave nothing more than recognition from the pure-blooded. Give her an opportunity, and she’ll leap at it like a dog. Moreover, we can offer her the compensation she desires, enough to reward her efforts.”

The messenger bowed respectfully, then turned and departed.

The council chamber fell silent once more.

The Ambassador stood alone by the window, his gaze fixed on the portrait on the wall. Silver hair, golden eyes, pearly teeth, an oval face—a beauty not of this mortal realm, yet imbued with an eerie stillness due to the hollow emptiness of her eyes.

“Your Royal Highness,” he whispered. “Where exactly are you?”

The maiden in the portrait watched him in silence, like an exquisite puppet.