A Deceptive Encounter

The severed blue bird head, still rolling, fixed its eyes upon her, its smoothly severed neck dripping blue blood.The sudden, horrifying sight failed to faze her; instead, she coolly analyzed the situation, concluding:

‘The enemy is formidable, having slain my meticulously trained hunting dog in a single encounter.’

She had no time to ponder the identity of her assailant.

With an immediate pivot, she lunged towards the stone bed, seizing the sacrificial dagger embedded within it. Summoning every ounce of her strength, she wrenched it free before bolting towards the wall at the far end of the chamber.

Concealed there was a secret back door, cleverly disguised as a mere stone brick, offering a path to escape.

This frail elven maiden’s body proved unexpectedly agile; her long legs carried her forward at a pace far swifter than she had anticipated.

Yet, after only a few strides, heavy footsteps rapidly drew near, their resonant thuds closing most of the distance until the sound seemed to press against the very back of her ears.

Without glancing back, she hurled the dagger with a backhand flick. It spun through the air, whistling ominously as it flew towards her pursuer.

“Clang!”

A crisp metallic clang resounded. The dagger was effortlessly deflected, striking the wall with a shower of sparks before clattering to the floor.

A powerful gust of wind assailed her from the side, an irresistible force sweeping across her calves.

Her legs instantly went numb, her body losing all balance as she toppled towards the bed. Her vision spun violently as the unyielding stone bed rushed to meet her, leaving her barely enough time to cross her arms protectively over her chest.

“Thud.”

Her chest slammed against the stone bed, a dull, explosive pain blooming within her as her legs kicked up into the air before falling back down. The unyielding hardness of the stone bed nearly stole her breath.

Before she could even begin to react, a chilling touch pressed against her throat.

Her golden eyes flickered to glimpse a blackened longsword, its snow-white, razor-sharp blade pressed intimately against her carotid artery. The slightest exertion from its wielder would be enough to sever her throat.

‘It’s over.’

She lay prone on the bed, utterly still. From her past experience as a demon, she knew any struggle in this predicament would be utterly futile.

Her only recourse now was to pray to the Four Gods that her assailant was a worshipper of the Blood God; at least then, she might be granted a swift end, her head cleanly severed and offered as a trophy to the deity.

The sacrifices to the other three gods, however, always sought to refine the art of torment.

A low male voice resonated above her, speaking the common tongue, the language of frail humans.

“Who are you?”

The voice struck her as vaguely familiar.

She lifted her head, her silver hair brushing against her cheek as her golden, deer-like eyes strained to look upwards.

A face streaked with soot and blood came into view, one cheek a canvas of fiery red burn scars. A pair of piercing emerald eyes on that face were fixed intently upon her.

‘He is…’

She remembered!

‘It’s Hero Wawalde.’

Fragments of memory flooded her mind.

‘He was a foolish dog she had once deceived.’

It was she who had anonymously provided this human with a map of the Demon Queen’s palace, luring him and his team to their demise, all to create an opening for her own assassination plot against the Demon Queen.

It was also she who, in the throne room, had targeted Wawalde, unleashing the all-consuming “Incinerate” and drawing the Demon Queen into its destructive radius, all to exploit a loophole in the rules of enslavement.

For the Demon Queen, using the Book of the World, had embedded two enslavement rules within her soul: ‘You shall not harm the Demon Queen’ and ‘You must protect the Demon Queen.’

A demon proverb aptly stated that if a person could be deceived once, they could be deceived a second time.

Despite her lifetime spent as the First Heavenly King, a life forged in iron and blood, not lies and deceit, she had ascended to her position by treading over mountains of bones.

In truth, she had rarely resorted to deception, for there had simply been no need.

Her mind raced, meticulously weaving a web of lies.

‘How to deceive him…?’

Time ticked by, second by agonizing second.

Wawalde’s voice sharpened. “Who are you? Do you not understand the common tongue?”

The former First Heavenly King, once a formidable general under the Demon Queen, continued to painstakingly weave her deception.

Wawalde then switched to the demon tongue. “Speak, who are you?”

The blade pressing against her throat intensified its pressure, and a single drop of blood slid down her pristine, snow-white neck, a startling splash of crimson.

In a desperate moment, the words tumbled from her lips. “I am a captured elven s*ave.”

Wawalde fell silent for a beat, then snarled, “You speak the demon tongue with remarkable fluency!”

The cold blade pressed deeper into her skin, a stinging sensation threatening to sever her throat.

A jolt of alarm shot through her as she realized her fatal error, and she hastily stammered an explanation in the common tongue:

“I… I learned… they… taught…”

Her words were fragmented, despite the serene expression on her face.

“But…”

Wawalde interjected, “You are the most fluent non-demon speaker of the demon tongue I have ever encountered.”

“Perhaps… I am simply clever.”

“…and also the most authentic, utterly devoid of any accent.”

“Taught… well… exceedingly well.”

‘It seems lying is far more challenging than killing.’

She closed her eyes, lowered her head, and relaxed her body, becoming pliant as a lamb resigned to slaughter.

The sword beside her neck withdrew, and the human hero behind her spoke. “Though it may be presumptuous, I wish to examine—”

She suddenly spun around, abruptly raising her right leg. Her long, leather-booted leg shot out with full force, delivering a fierce kick to Wawalde’s abdomen.

Wawalde grunted, his body merely swaying with a slight tremor.

Her legs, long as a bow, were now as limp as overcooked noodles. In her prime, Jimi the Cruel could shatter foundations and crush skulls with a single stomp; now, her kick against the hero’s abdominal armor produced a sound akin to a silver spoon falling into thick soup, not even enough to rouse a sleeping dog.

Lamenting her diminished strength, she seized the momentary opening to roll off the bed, her body tumbling once on the ground as her hand stretched towards the sacrificial dagger nestled in the nearby corner.

Yet, the instant her fingertips brushed the dagger’s cold hilt, a large hand clamped down on the nape of her neck from behind.

A tremendous force surged through her as she was effortlessly lifted, like a kitten caught by the scruff of its neck, utterly powerless to resist.

Wawalde pressed her back onto the stone bed, this time face down. Her hands were twisted behind her back, firmly restrained by his single hand.

She struggled, but the strength of this body was laughably feeble against Wawalde.

In the full-length mirror beside the bed, she watched Wawalde expressionlessly raise his longsword, its blade aimed directly at her back.

The chilling aura of death descended upon her.

Just then, Hero Wawalde’s voice resonated with startling clarity within her mind.

‘Such a beautiful elf… mithril-like long hair, noble golden eyes… she bears a striking resemblance to the princess mentioned in Agnes’s letter. I hope she isn’t a demon, otherwise… I’ll have no choice but to kill her…’

She instantly understood. Though she couldn’t explain how, it had to be the inner thoughts of the human Hero Wawalde.

‘Physical contact with Wawalde allowed her to hear his thoughts?!’

Consequently, she ceased her struggles, her body relaxing as she uttered, word by painstaking word, in broken common tongue:

“Don’t… kill… me… not… demon…”

In the mirror, Wawalde’s longsword froze mid-air. He inquired, “Why did you attack me just now?”

“I was afraid.”

“Yet, your tone betrays no hint of fear,” Hero Wawalde observed. “From start to finish, your voice has remained utterly calm, and I see no fear on your face. You are like a battle-hardened demon, reminding me of a particular enemy.”

“Who?”

“Jimi the Cruel, the First Heavenly King. When I severed her head with a single stroke of my sword, her face showed no alarm, retaining its cruel composure.”

‘You truly guessed correctly.’

Through the contact of her neck with the hero’s hand, she perceived his inner thoughts.

‘…However, unlike that murderous maniac Jimi the Cruel, she appears to possess the haughty demeanor of a princess.’

She immediately lied. “Do not compare me to her.”

Only after speaking did she realize she had unconsciously reverted to the demon tongue.

Yet, the hand gripping the nape of her neck relaxed its hold.

‘Is deceiving people truly this simple?’

She muttered inwardly, finding the situation somewhat absurd.

Wawalde released her. She sat up from the bed, rubbing her reddened neck, and looked at him.

Wawalde sheathed his sword, though his gaze remained filled with scrutiny.

He retrieved an envelope from his tunic, turning slightly to obscure it from her view before extracting a piece of parchment. It was already yellowed and frayed at the edges.

He extended the letter towards her.

“This is a relic left by my elven comrade; he sacrificed his life. Can you tell me what is written on it?”

She nodded, gazing at the unfamiliar elven script on the letter, which to her appeared as nothing more than a cluster of elegant earthworms.

Her mind went utterly blank; she recognized not a single word.

In Elven, she knew only three words: “surrender,” “kill,” and “defile.”

‘Should I fabricate something? What if he already knows the letter’s contents, or can read Elven himself?’

Her long ears twitched involuntarily.

Time seemed to freeze. The only sounds in the air were their contrasting breaths, one light, one heavy.

“As an elf, do you not understand Elven?”

Wawalde’s hand unconsciously tightened on his sword hilt, and the suspicion that had just receded from his emerald eyes resurfaced.

In a desperate move, she reached out and clasped Wawalde’s wrist, which held the letter.

Wawalde’s body stiffened, and he almost drew his sword.

She stammered in the common tongue, “I… I am afraid… this way… is better.”

A warm sensation emanated from his wrist, and Wawalde’s thoughts once again flowed into her mind.

‘Agnes’s mission… entrusted to her by the Elven Royal Court… to find the missing princess… this letter was written before she departed, it should contain specific information… unfortunately, I don’t read Elven…’

These fragmented thoughts coalesced into crucial information.

She released his hand and took the letter. She lowered her head, her gaze sweeping over the symbols she utterly failed to comprehend, then looked up, her golden eyes meeting Wawalde’s.

Her face remained perfectly calm. “The letter states… the Elven Royal Court… must find the missing princess.”

Hero Wawalde slid the partially drawn sword back into its鞘. “That’s right. My apologies, but I keep feeling you’re not an elf, but a demon in disguise.”

She replied in the demon tongue, “If I truly wished to disguise myself, I would at least sew a few leaves onto my skirt. Alas, my tailor was fed to the maggots long ago.”

“Madam, your humor is quite amusing.”

She appraised Wawalde, noting his strength, and a daring thought suddenly sparked within her.

She could weave an enormous lie, impersonate the Elven Princess, convince him of her immense value, and then manipulate him into helping her recover her head and regain her strength, allowing her to preemptively kill the Demon Queen.

However, this audacious lie was also fraught with danger.

She had no idea if the Demon Queen’s dungeon actually held an Elven Princess, and as a Heavenly King who commanded troops, the Demon Queen had always been wary of her.

If they met, wouldn’t her deception be immediately exposed?

Yet, with her current strength, she couldn’t possibly locate her head. If the Demon Queen found her first, everything would be lost.

“Hero.” She pointed to her face. “I think… that Elven Princess might be me.”

“Huh?”

Hero Wawalde blinked in surprise. Before his eyes, the beautiful elven maiden calmly pointed a slender index finger at her own serene face.

From beginning to end, her face remained as tranquil as an ancient well.

The drop of blood on her pale neck was startlingly crimson.

Hero Wawalde recalled that even when her life was threatened by his sword, her expression had remained utterly calm.

‘Was this the cold arrogance of an Elven Princess? Even in such circumstances.’

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” Her common tongue grew increasingly fluent. “The letter states the Elven Princess has silver hair and golden eyes, though I have lost… many memories.”

Having said this, she fixed her gaze on Hero Wawalde. Coldness was a weapon, and she excelled at wielding it through her eyes; few could meet her gaze for ten seconds.

Ten seconds… twenty seconds… thirty seconds…

Well, Hero Wawalde was an exception, a fact she owed to her frail female body. If she still possessed her male form—