Chapter 23: A Weapon’s Maintenance

Wawalde took a deep breath. He set down his battle-axe, but his hand remained clenched around the handle.

He took a few steps forward, closing in on Sovenia.

Sovenia immediately reached for her Moonpetal Blade. Her hand tightened on the hilt, but she didn’t draw it.

The strong devoured the weak. Sovenia had played the part of the predator for far too long, but that didn’t mean she had forgotten the art of survival as the prey.

Wawalde stopped just a single step away.

Sovenia struggled not to crane her neck to meet his gaze, an unsettling task.

“Lady Sovenia,” Wawalde’s tone softened, but the resolve in his eyes didn’t waver. “I must apologize in advance, for I am about to resort to impolite violence. Please hand over the Black Claw. I will destroy it.”

Sovenia lifted her head, looking him straight in the eye. “Don’t you want to kill the Demon Queen?”

Wawalde froze.

“Trust me,” Sovenia said. “I know more about the demons than you can possibly imagine. In your current state, if you encounter the Demon Queen in the throne room, you will die.”

“My holy sword is broken. If I just had a good weapon, even one like Jimi the Cruel’s—”

“This isn’t a gap that a better weapon or armor can bridge.”

“She fled. She fled her own throne room.”

“She only fears death, not you. She fears the other demons. A grievously wounded demon monarch is no monarch at all, but merely a stepping stone for the next one.”

Wawalde spoke slowly. “But this is a malicious wish-granter. I’m not wrong about that, am I, Lady Sovenia?”

Sovenia’s gaze fell to her own bare thighs, visible beneath her short skirt. To have fallen so low, to have become a frail elven female—this was the result of her third wish.

She had made that wish eighteen years ago. The situation had been dire, the enemy strong and numerous while she was weak and alone. She had considered wishing for something like ‘I will be reborn,’ but the chances of her corpse being camped were too high.

So, she had wished, ‘If I die, I will surely be reincarnated.’

The wish had been granted. A ‘genie in a bottle’ had appeared in her hands, though she hadn’t needed it then.

Her brave slaughter of the enemy had drawn the attention of the Blood God. She and her guards had hacked their way through the besieging human legion, carving a bloody path out of a mountain of corpses.

She never imagined she would use that ‘genie in a bottle’ eighteen years later, or that the price would be this.

Still, even with a price, it was far better than dying with her head lopped off.

“You’re right,” Sovenia said. “But trust me, what it gives you far outweighs the price. You’ll come out ahead.”

“If I wished upon such an evil thing to kill the Demon Queen… I’m sure its malice would twist my wish and simply make me the new Demon Queen.”

‘Is that so bad?’ Sovenia thought. ‘You would die by my blade, a knife in your back. I would become the new Demon Queen, obtain the World Tome, and seize control of my destiny. In a way, your life would have found its purpose.’

Sovenia said aloud, “Is that a price you are willing to accept?”

“To become the new Demon Queen?”

Sovenia found the idea absurd. Wasn’t becoming a demon monarch a wonderful thing?

“Yes,” she said.

“Give it to me, Lady Sovenia. This is your last warning.”

“No!” Sovenia tried to lie. “This is my only hope of getting out of here—ah!”

Wawalde moved.

His speed was incredible, but Sovenia reacted instantly. She had already prepared for this, a conditioned reflex to his slightest motion.

But her strength was too little to resist.

Wawalde’s powerful arm wrapped around her, pulling her into his embrace, while his other hand expertly seized the wrist of the hand hiding the Black Claw. The disparity in their strength made her struggles feel like those of an infant, and the claw was quickly wrested from her grasp.

Seeing the claw taken, Sovenia went still, ceasing her struggles. She was well-versed in the ways of the weak.

“I’m sorry,” Wawalde whispered.

He released her and took two steps back. Placing the Black Claw on the ground, he raised his battle-axe with one arm and brought it down with force.

A sharp *crack* echoed as the axe blade split the claw in two.

A dark crimson light erupted from the fracture, swirling in the air for a moment with a piercing shriek before vanishing. The remains of the Black Claw rapidly weathered, crumbling into a pile of dust.

Sovenia stood motionless, her face an unreadable mask as she stared at the ashes.

She had tried to be clever, but it had cost her dearly. She truly thought the stupid mutt, driven by his thirst for power, would be tempted by her words into keeping it as a contingency against the Demon Queen.

She had also considered that Wawalde, being a human hero, would have a mind filled with that soft, weak thing called ‘kindness.’

Because of this, she assumed the most he would do was refuse her offer, but keep the claw as a last resort.

But he had destroyed it, cutting off any retreat. It seemed her understanding of weak humans was still lacking. This mutt’s self-sabotage… was utterly incomprehensible. His stupidity was truly eye-opening.

How could she have lopped off so many human heads yet still fail to grasp their way of thinking? Perhaps this was a case of being too specialized in her own field.

She turned and walked silently toward the bathroom in the depths of the bedchamber.

“Lady Sovenia!” Wawalde’s voice, laced with clear concern, called out from behind her. “Where are you going?”

Sovenia didn’t respond.

He quickly caught up, blocking the bathroom door. “Please, don’t do anything foolish! I swear, I will get you out of this fortress. I will see you returned to the elven kingdom!”

Sovenia stopped and looked up at him.

The stupid mutt’s face was etched with concern, his emerald eyes reflecting her image.

An oath without the power to back it up was no different from empty words. It was probably less useful than a fart, which at least had some substance.

Still, keenly aware of her own weakness, Sovenia held her tongue.

“I’m going to take a bath,” she said, her expression blank. “Do you want to join me?”

Wawalde’s face flushed a deep crimson. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“N-No, thank you!” he stammered, hastily stepping aside. “I’ve already bathed.”

“I thought perhaps you wanted another.”

Sovenia pushed open the bathroom door and stepped inside.

Wawalde stood outside, listening to the sound of running water. He lingered for a moment, pressing his ear against the door to confirm there were no unusual noises before turning to leave.

Inside, Sovenia shed her dust-covered but relatively clean clothes. As she undid her thick braid, she walked toward the immaculate bathtub.

‘The stupid mutt is quite tidy,’ she thought. ‘He didn’t make a mess of the bathroom. For that, I suppose I’ll stab him half an inch less deep when the time comes to put a blade through his back.’

The warm water enveloped her frail body, bringing a rare sense of relaxation.

She closed her eyes and sank deeper, her long, silver-white hair fanning out across the surface.

‘Stupid mutt. Such a stupid mutt.’

But it was his stupidity that made him so easy to deceive.

Until then, she had to continue playing the part of the ‘amnesiac elven princess,’ regain her power, and escape this fragile form. Only then could she hope to contend with the Demon Queen.

‘One step at a time,’ she resolved. ‘The first step is to not waste time on luxuries. It’s time to stand watch.’

She rose, her body breaking the surface of the warm water.

Instantly, this new form began to protest. An instinctual urge screamed in her mind, pleading with her to soak a little longer, to scrub every inch of skin clean, to comb her silver hair until not a single tangle remained. It was as if the vessel would wither otherwise.

‘What a troublesome female body.’

Sovenia scoffed. As she was about to step out, she caught her reflection in the water.

She paused, studying the image. This face, this body… they were her only assets now, her sole weapons for controlling that stupid mutt and fighting the Demon Queen.

And a weapon, of course, required the finest maintenance.

This decision had tactical value.

Composing herself, she gathered the bathing supplies and sank back into the water. She began to meticulously wash her long hair, scrubbing her chest, her legs, her feet… her movements as precise as if she were polishing a treasured sword about to taste blood.