Murderer

Her consciousness felt caught in a swirling vortex, as if her body were hanging upside down from the ceiling.
Her stomach churned, urging her to retch, but the spinning, blurred awareness forced her to endure the nausea until…

A single ray of light pierced the darkness enveloping her vision.
Gradually, it grew larger and brighter.
As her eyes fully opened, her foggy consciousness finally reconnected with reality.

Kant slumped against a tree, struggling to sit up.
He touched his still-dizzy head, letting out pained groans.

“Ugh… Where am I?”

As his vision cleared, his mind began to function again.
Memories flooded back, aligning with the scene before him.
Slowly, Kant pieced it together.

“I remember stealing the elven sacred fruit and escaping the inner city.
Looks like I’m still in the outer city, but I must’ve passed out halfway…”

Instinctively, Kant reached out with his right hand to steady himself against the tree trunk.

The moment his arm brushed a branch, his black pupils contracted sharply.
He quickly brought his right arm before his eyes, turning it back and forth.

Still grappling with disbelief, Kant raised his right arm and slapped his face hard.
A crisp smack echoed, nearly bringing tears to his eyes.

“Ow, ow, ow…”

Since when did his slaps hurt so much?
Had he gotten stronger?
No, that wasn’t it.

Why was his body so fragile now?
Wait, that wasn’t the point.

Pain—he felt pain.
That meant…

Yes, no mistake.

Staring at his newly restored right arm, Kant’s eyes brimmed with indescribable excitement.
He’d done it.

He’d overcome his Deficiency, healed his right arm.
He’d succeeded!

Right, if his arm was restored…
Kant hurriedly touched his chest.

As expected, the spot where he’d hidden the sacred fruit was empty.
A knowing look crossed his face.

His arm’s recovery was indeed tied to the sacred fruit.

If he wasn’t mistaken, in his unconscious state, he must’ve instinctively sought food or drink, consuming the fruit.
Eating it had fully restored his body.

The logic held, especially since the wounds from earlier battles had healed completely.

“No wonder it’s the elven sacred fruit.
To bring the dead to life and mend bones—such a miracle could only belong to the ancient elves…” Kant murmured.

“Of course it worked.
After all, trading one life for your arm—if that didn’t work, wouldn’t an elf’s life be too cheap?”

A cold voice suddenly cut through from nearby bushes.

Kant instinctively retreated, his back against the tree.
In a flash, he drew two flowing silver moon daggers from his waist, assuming a combat stance.

Seeing his intact arms, wielding both hands for the first time felt surreal, and he couldn’t help but marvel inwardly.

But when he looked up and saw who approached, he froze.

It was Felicia Garlanode, the First Princess of the elves.

His shock wasn’t due to her status but his senses.

As a peak thief, he knew perception and vigilance were critical.
With his sharp mental acuity, any approaching enemy should’ve triggered a danger alarm in his mind.

Yet no warning came.

His current defensive stance was a reflex to a stranger’s approach, not an instinctive recognition of a threat.
Subconsciously, he didn’t see this elf princess as an enemy.

How was that possible?
He’d stolen their sacred fruit, and the First Princess had been hunting him relentlessly.
No matter how he reasoned, his instincts shouldn’t mark her as an ally.

Confusion swirled in Kant’s mind, but now wasn’t the time to dwell.
He narrowed his eyes, flashing his signature roguish grin.

“Didn’t expect the elf princess to be so skilled at tracking.
I only rested for a moment, and you caught up so fast.
But what did you mean just now?
I may be a thief who stole your stuff, but I’ve never killed anyone along the way…”

Before infiltrating the Elven Forest, Kant had done thorough research.

To slip into their territory undetected, he’d studied their customs.
Without understanding local habits, he’d risk exposure and mission failure.

In elven tradition, unnecessary killing was strictly forbidden.
Living in the vast Elven Forest for generations, elves were nature’s darlings, protectors of its balance.
Every creature, herbivore or carnivore, was their friend and companion.
Elves were famously vegetarian, their keen senses attuned to the scent of blood.

To blend in, Kant brought only plant-based rations, leaving behind his favored jerky.

Killing animals was out, and killing an elf was unthinkable—not just due to his own moral code, but because, if forced to kill, the elves would hunt him relentlessly for slaying one of their kin.

In their eyes, the value of a companion or kin far surpassed material wealth.

So, the princess’s claim that he’d traded an elf’s life for his arm was absurd.
He’d never killed an elf—how could he have used a life to restore his arm?

Facing Kant’s confident retort, Felicia’s expression grew icy, her emerald eyes devoid of warmth or patience, filled only with boundless sorrow and vengeance.

“Shut up, filthy human!”

It was the first time Felicia had insulted an enemy.
In Kant’s decades of life, such words were trivial, but hearing them from Felicia sent an inexplicable suffocating pang through his heart.

It hurt, like being scorned with disgust by someone dear.

No, that wasn’t right.

He was a seasoned man nearing fifty, hardened by years of trials.
Why would he care about the insults of an unfamiliar elf princess?

“Don’t you want to know why?
I’ll tell you!”

In her grief-stricken fury, Felicia raised her hand, pointing at Kant’s newly restored right arm, her voice raw with anguish.

“The elven royal family produces offspring once every millennium.
Each generation is born from the sacred fruit of the Elven Holy Tree.
This generation, aside from the fruit that birthed me, only one other remained—the incomplete fruit you took…”

“That fruit, though not yet fully alive, was undeniably my unborn sister.
By consuming it, you killed her.
You traded my sister’s life for your arm.
What’s there to question?”

“You murderer!”

Her words pierced Kant’s ears, each syllable clear.
At “murderer,” his heart felt hammered, his head spinning, his body unsteady, his breath faltering.

He’d killed an elf… for his arm…