The Pity of a Knight, the Fury of a King

Before Wawalde’s thoughts reached her, Sovenia harbored several conjectures. She suspected he was meticulously dissecting the flaws in her lies, perhaps having uncovered a crucial detail, or was intently assessing her true strength and the inherent risks she represented. Alternatively, she considered, he might be plotting to eliminate her at some opportune moment, thereby resolving his predicament once and for all.

Yet, as Wawalde’s thoughts resonated loudly within her mind, she realized all her elaborate conjectures had been utterly mistaken.

‘Miss Sovenia’s face is so delicate, so fair, like a hard-boiled egg freshly peeled from its shell…’

‘Ah, it’s lust. I’d forgotten that particular dynamic. In a place like the Demon Queen’s Hall, this frail and powerless body, endowed with nothing but beauty and slender legs, could only secure the protection of the strong by fulfilling their desires through exchange.’

‘It seems I’ve been a powerful figure for so long that I’ve forgotten the harsh laws of survival for the weak. While this is certainly uncomfortable, it’s still preferable to him developing a predatory hunger for me. I must devise a plan to entice this imbecile into that wretched garbage hole, to contend with the Slime King himself…’

As Sovenia meticulously calculated her next move.

Wawalde’s thoughts continued to resonate within her very being.

‘…And as fragile as a hard-boiled egg. A single arrow, a mere splashing stone, could spell her demise. She has lost her country, lost the shelter of her kin, and now finds herself in the perilous Demon Queen’s Hall… As a knight, it is my duty to protect her.’

Sovenia’s eye twitched almost imperceptibly.

‘As fragile as a hard-boiled egg?’

‘Protect?’

These words, sharp as thorny whips, lashed against her pride, stinging her so intensely that she nearly bared her teeth in furious indignation.

It wasn’t the avarice of beauty, nor the yearning for the opposite s*x.

It was pity.

It was the strong pitying the weak, humans pitying pets—and, to her utter disbelief, this imbecilic dog’s condescending, arrogant pity directed at her, the formidable First Heavenly King, Jimi the Cruel!

‘He’s actually pitying me?!’

Sovenia felt nothing short of profound humiliation, a blatant affront to her status as the esteemed First Heavenly King.

Her heart hammered with furious indignation.

A surge of scalding blood instantly rushed to her head, causing Sovenia’s fair, jade-like countenance, and even the tips of her snow-white pointed ears, to flush a vivid crimson in that fleeting moment.

Her hand instinctively clenched, her nails attempting to dig into the flesh of Wawalde’s hand. Alas, the “idiot dog” possessed remarkably thick skin, and it was Sovenia’s own nails that snapped instead.

A voice drifted down from above:

“Miss Sovenia? Your face is quite flushed…”

Sovenia instantly relaxed her hand, muttering, “It’s nothing.”

Observing her crimson face, Wawalde mistakenly assumed she was blushing in shyness. After a slight internal struggle, he finally tore his gaze from Sovenia’s countenance, taking a few steps back before speaking:

“Have I offended you? My deepest apologies, I assure you I meant no ill will…”

His retreating steps were remarkably gentle, as if he were trying not to startle a small, skittish cat curled in a corner, lest it react defensively.

Sovenia felt as though her lungs would burst from sheer rage. She drew a deep, steadying breath and declared, “It’s nothing, I merely…”

She forcibly swallowed the words she truly wished to utter, instead stating, “…it’s just that my face feels a little warm.”

Wawalde nodded understandingly. “I see.”

An awkward silence settled between them, persisting for a considerable while.

Wawalde finally broke the silence. “We are pressed for time. I must escort you out of the Demon Queen’s Hall swiftly; I possess a map.”

Sovenia raised her head, the flush having entirely vanished from her face, replaced by an icy demeanor. “Hero.”

“Oh?”

“Are you a virgin?”

“I am… Miss Sovenia, why do you ask so abruptly?”

‘No wonder.’

‘Given his strength and standing, remaining a virgin until now likely signifies that his mind is saturated with those soft, human values—that he has been utterly domesticated.’

Sovenia drew a deep breath, then carefully unveiled the fabrication she had previously concocted:

“In truth, Jimi the Cruel clandestinely provided you with that map, intending to exploit your party.”

Wawalde paused, taken aback. “What? Wait a moment, that explains why I questioned Jimi the Cruel’s betrayal of her mistress.”

“Therefore, this map, while it might indeed lead you to the throne room, is entirely fraudulent in all other respects.”

“Is that truly the case?”

“Trust me,” Sovenia stated calmly, gesturing towards the ‘Garbage Hole’. “The cavern below is a shortcut.”

Wawalde consulted the map once more, where an indentation beneath the corridor was clearly labeled “Garbage Hole.” He then glanced at the cave’s entrance, from which a pungent stench of kitchen refuse wafted forth.

“Are you certain it’s not merely called the Garbage Hole? It appears to be a demon waste disposal site.”

Sovenia drew another deep breath.

Though she was incredibly reluctant, she knew that to eventually reclaim her male form, she had to exploit those weak human values of pity.

With that, she extended her hand once more. “I’m a little frightened. Could you, perhaps, lend me your hand again? With you by my side, I won’t feel quite so scared.”

“As you wish, Miss Sovenia.”

Wawalde’s hand gently enveloped Sovenia’s, and his thoughts exploded within her mind:

‘Her hands bear no calluses; these are not the hands of a warrior. How could such a delicate and fragile princess possibly survive in this harsh place?’

‘Delicate, weak.’

Sovenia’s pointed ears trembled with suppressed fury, yet she managed to speak with forced calm:

“Believe me.”

“Very well… we shall proceed downwards then. Miss Sovenia, however, you must stay incredibly close to me, not straying even a single step. Furthermore, we absolutely must not disturb the Slime King. My holy sword cannot endure prolonged, high-intensity combat; this old companion has already served me long enough.”

Releasing their hands, they advanced towards the cave’s maw.

The rocks at the cave’s edge, vitrified by intense heat, were incredibly smooth and treacherous underfoot.

A heavy stench of sulfur and decay billowed upwards from the depths. Wawalde ignited a spare torch, its flickering orange-red glow illuminating the steep, treacherous slope that descended into the cavern below.

Sovenia trailed behind him, her elven physiology bestowing upon her exceptional night vision.

As they navigated the slope, they encountered patches of slick moss near its base.

“Watch your step, Miss Sovenia.”

‘Idiot dog! How could mere moss possibly warrant my caution?’

Suddenly, Sovenia’s leather boots slipped beneath her, her body losing all equilibrium as she pitched forward.

The anticipated fall never materialized. Instead, she tumbled headfirst into Wawalde’s embrace, her skull striking his breastplate with a resonant thud.

Wawalde steadied her, exclaiming, “Hey! Be careful! You nearly tumbled all the way down!”

Sovenia’s body stiffened, not from alarm, but from a pure, unadulterated fury befitting Jimi the Cruel herself. ‘I actually slipped? This must surely be the fault of this frail body!’

Swiftly, she regained her composure, extricated herself from Wawalde’s embrace, and instinctively smoothed down her skirt.

“I know, this accursed place is far too slick.”

They pressed on downwards. The cavern’s interior was damp and oppressively humid, though, strangely, the pervasive stench seemed to diminish. The air hung thick and viscous, filled with the echoing sounds of dripping water and unseen squirming movements.

“Follow me, I recall the path,” Sovenia instructed, moving forward.

“Remember, we must bypass the Slime King.”

“Mm.”

Within the cavern, Sovenia purposefully steered them directly towards the Slime King’s lair. From her experience, merely being in the vicinity of its den would be sufficient to rouse it.

This calculated move would allow her to avoid arousing the idiot dog’s suspicion, while simultaneously compelling him to pull her chestnuts from the fire.

More than ten minutes later.

Sovenia halted her steps.

For, the first wave of enemies had emerged.

Several green, gelatinous masses oozed forth from the rocky shadows; these were medium slimes.

The ensuing battle proved both straightforward and efficient.

Wawalde cleaved with his corrosive longsword, while Sovenia, from behind, scattered salt with the nonchalance of a village woman feeding an old hen.

With a series of sizzling, corrosive sounds, the slimes’ bodies visibly withered and liquefied, ultimately leaving behind nothing but puddles of verdant liquid on the cave floor.

Having dispatched several waves of these lesser creatures, Sovenia guided Wawalde through a labyrinth of narrow rock crevices and winding caverns. Gradually, the putrid odor in the air began to dissipate.

The air, too, steadily grew drier.

Sovenia found herself growing increasingly perplexed. Where was the Slime King? Surely, a hungry Slime King would have burst forth by now.

Eventually, they reached the entrance of an unusually expansive underground cavern, from which a faint glimmer of light emanated.

Wawalde’s torch-wielding arm halted Sovenia, signaling her to silence, before he extinguished the flame.

The two stealthily advanced, concealing themselves behind a massive cluster of stalactites, from which they cautiously peered into the cavern’s interior.

The sight within the cavern caused Wawalde’s breath to catch in his throat. Sovenia’s head emerged from behind his shoulder, her gaze following his.

The entire cavern resembled a colossal bowl, its bottom a vast, pulsating green quagmire—a true slime swamp. Within this viscous expanse, slimes of every conceivable size writhed, merged, and divided ceaselessly.

At the very heart of this swamp, a colossal entity monopolized their entire field of vision.

It was a gargantuan slime, its sheer mass substantial enough to fill half a city block, its body a menacing shade of dark green. Its surface constantly pulsed with enormous bubbles, much like boiling mud, only to slowly collapse back upon itself.

Within its immense form, dimly discernible, were vast piles of consumed corpses, nearly filling its cavernous belly.

A gaping maw, scorched into the cavern’s ceiling, allowed several fresh demon corpses to plummet downwards. The Slime King extended pseudopods to receive them, and the bodies sank effortlessly into its vast, absorbent mass.

Wawalde whispered, “Are the demons performing a sacrifice?”

“No,” Sovenia corrected. “They are disposing of their failures.”

At this moment, to their disgust, a small blob of slime was ‘birthed’ from the Slime King’s surface, dripping into the swamp below to merge with its brethren.

“Thanks to you,” Wawalde genuinely stated, “we no longer need to fear a surprise attack from the Slime King. We won’t disturb it further.”

‘No, I absolutely intend to disturb it,’ Sovenia thought, tightening her grip on a small stone she had secretly picked up.

‘This idiot dog always loves playing the hero; I’ll let him perform one more time.’