The woman simply opened her mouth and let out a breath. That breath soon turned into words, which in turn became a question.
“…Ah?”
The woman couldn’t understand the girl’s question. The abruptness and lack of context of the question played a part, but the main reason was that the woman lacked the ability to maintain normal thought processes.
So the woman repeated the question, and the Elven Girl blinked at the woman’s dazed response before asking again.
“Why are you so fixated?”
The woman didn’t answer. But this silence was slightly different in texture.
Whereas the previous silence stemmed from a lack of understanding, this silence came from understanding but not wanting to respond.
No one willingly wants to dig into their own wounds.
Thus, the woman remained silent, and when she finally lowered her head after Phey had been staring down at her, she spoke.
“You can’t even recall your daughter’s face or voice, right? You probably didn’t spend much time together either. And yet… why do you burn your entire life away while loving and obsessing over her? I don’t understand it.”
The sudden, straightforward question landed heavily on the woman’s chest, and as she bit her lips until they bled, she roared.
“I know, I know! I… this… I know it’s strange…”
The tears falling to the ground left small marks, and the wailing woman covered her face and shouted.
“I know this isn’t normal… I know this is all futile… But…”
Pushing her hands away, the woman mumbled with a crumpled face. Though she didn’t shout, her words resonated more than any cry.
“What could I have possibly done? What should I have done? This land… no matter what I did, it only took from me…”
The tears streaming down her face. As Phey watched them, the woman lowered her head again.
“My daughter died because of my power. My family died, people died. And… oh… my daughter, my daughter who died because of me…”
As the woman rambled and cried, Phey blinked. An uncomfortable silence followed, and the woman lifted her head.
“Because of me, she couldn’t even speak a word before dying. At least I wanted her to be happy. So… I wanted to save her. To protect her, to make her happy…”
Though calm, her words were laced with sobs, but also with an indifferent sincerity.
While listening to these words, Phey thought of Aslan.
What if Phey were to die in battle, and Aslan were to miss Phey and feel guilty?
Phey imagined this scenario, assuming Phey’s death while Aslan lived on.
Phey pictured Aslan feeling guilty, missing Phey, grieving, and obsessing over Phey.
Forgetting and trying every possible way to bring Phey back.
On the surface, it seemed good. Phey even thought that such a reaction might come if injured, even momentarily.
But something about the woman’s situation felt different. Phey blinked emotionlessly and asked.
“How long has it been like this?”
“211 years. For 211 years…”
“211 years.”
Only then did Phey truly understand.
If Aslan were to obsess over Phey, extending his lifespan by various means and remain fixated for two hundred years, the trajectory of the woman’s life finally made sense.
The Elven Girl, lacking empathy and thus only able to understand situations through her own experiences, narrowed her eyebrows slightly upon imagining the scene.
She saw Aslan causing all sorts of unhappiness and suffering in an attempt to revive Phey.
Phey lacked empathy but had insight into phenomena. Phey found the self-inflicted suffering deeply sorrowful and painful.
Because it wasn’t someone else’s emotions but her own, the Elven Girl felt sadness.
The image of Aslan, already a melancholic figure, letting go of everything and suffering, brought Phey only sorrow, not joy.
Though Phey was flattered and drawn by the idea of being missed so deeply, she didn’t want Aslan to suffer.
It would be a painful sight to behold.
After analyzing the situation, Phey spoke.
“I like Aslan.”
At this unexpected statement, the woman dumbly looked up. Even as their gazes met, the girl continued speaking.
“I like him the most in the world.”
Confused, the woman stared blankly, prompting the girl to smile faintly.
“If I were to die and Aslan were to grieve for me, trying to bring me back, I’d be really happy.”
The woman realized that Phey’s tone had changed.
Unlike earlier when she referred to herself as “Phey,” now she used “I,” indicating normal self-reference.
Through the sincere tone, the woman understood this was the girl’s genuine sentiment.
“I want Aslan to be happy. He probably wants to be happy too.”
The moment the girl’s intent dawned on the woman, the expected words flowed naturally.
“Doesn’t Anna want to be happy?”
Anna Helmenius unconsciously gripped her pendant until her hand turned white, and Phey placed her hand over Anna’s to ease the tension. With a gentle touch, Anna released her grip, and Phey brushed the pendant aside.
“Would Anna’s daughter wish for her mother to be unhappy?”
Anna couldn’t answer. She moved her lips but only shed tears.
“I don’t know anything… Tell me, tell me, my child…”
But Phey lacked empathy and couldn’t understand Anna’s crying.
Unable to comprehend, Phey simply stated,
“I’m Phey. I’m not Anna’s daughter. So, I don’t know.”
It was a harsh statement. But it was necessary.
“Only Anna knows her daughter. What does Anna think her daughter would feel?”
The broken woman raised her head blankly to meet the Elven Girl’s gaze.
When the green eyes lost their light meeting the azure ones, the Elven Girl tilted her head.
“What do you think will happen?”
Without irritation or anger, the Elven Girl quietly listened. From this detached gaze, Anna found solace and burst into tears.
Crying, Anna hugged Phey, wrapping her arms around the girl tightly. Phey gently patted Anna’s back.
That was enough. Understanding the unspoken answer, the girl patted the woman’s back in comfort.
Only then did Phey understand why Aslan entrusted this task to her.
Because it was something only Phey could do.
Aslan often said, “It’s something only I can do, so I must.”
Phey believed the same, despite not fully understanding.
Anna moved the patting hand to her pendant. When Phey lightly pulled, the pendant was now in her hand.
“Ah…”
The lingering attachment. The long-held obsession guided Anna’s hand, but before she could act or speak, Phey spoke.
“Phey is an elf. And elves were created by a deity who wished for everyone to be happy.”
A deity of nature and creation. The only ancient deity who chose peace over conflict and eventually died, becoming a tree.
Recalling this faint knowledge, Phey stood up slightly.
Rising, Phey faced the lab door and removed her shoes.
The sound of the shoes hitting the floor echoed, leaving her barefoot.
An elf.
Now understanding why Phey avoided wearing shoes, the woman wiped her tears as Phey stepped forward with pristine feet.
Some kind of energy flowed through her pure white feet.
Bang!
As the barefoot Phey turned toward the door, the wooden door violently swung open, revealing three men.
Priests, each missing an arm or pierced with arrows in their torsos.
Ignoring Phey entirely, the three priests exchanged opinions among themselves. Meanwhile, Phey turned her back to Anna and reached behind her.
Behind her back hung two short swords.
Two blood-soaked short swords that seemed too much for a small fourteen-year-old girl to wield.
Swoosh—
The eerie sound of swords being drawn revealed countless inscriptions on the blades, each glowing with different lights.
Realizing these were magical lights, Anna instantly recognized them as relics of ancient magic swords, rare even in the old empire.
As she recognized this, the inscriptions glowed, and the girl casually wrapped the pendant around the hilt of her right sword.
“But since Phey is a broken elf, unable to give happiness, then…”
Continuing her earlier statement, a sentence only the woman could understand, the priests frowned at the girl, whose eyes suddenly gleamed.
Standing there was no longer the red-haired elf but a veteran of swords.
The master of swords casually crossed the twin blades before sharply spreading them apart.
Clang!
As the twin blades clashed, sparks flew and the swords ignited in flames.
The twin fiery blades, burning with a flame identical to the girl’s hair, hung loosely in her hands.
“Phey will take Anna’s pain. Since Phey is empty and cannot feel.”
This declaration carried such weight that the three priests subtly furrowed their brows, sensing something ominous and raising their guard significantly.
The weight of someone who had killed dozens, hundreds of people and monsters, and the comrade who had fought alongside the greatest warriors for the longest time.
The stance the girl adopted was the same as Aslan and Budonggong.
The second generation masters of combat favored this stance.
As the priests tensed and drew their weapons, the twin blades streaked through the air, charging forward.
