“I’m back! Reinhard! Felt! I got my knight!” Merope called out as the front door of the residence opened, her voice echoing enthusiastically down the entrance hall, completely unaware of the figure stepping calmly behind her with a faint smile still resting on her lips.
“Oh, you’re back fa—” Felt, who had just emerged from the living room with a glass of water in hand, froze in place, her eyes widening at the black-haired figure standing on the threshold.
“Merope! Get away from her!” Reinhard, following from another hallway, spoke in a sharper voice than Merope had ever heard from him, his hand reflexively moving toward his waist even though no sword hung there.
“Eh?” Merope turned around in confusion, her gaze shifting from Reinhard’s tense face to Elsa standing calmly behind her, not understanding at all what had turned a warm welcoming atmosphere into something this tense.
“Don’t move, or I’ll kill this little girl,” Elsa said, her voice remaining calm, almost sounding friendly, though one of her hands was now raised, fingers gripping the handle of a kukri neatly hidden beneath her clothes—close enough to Merope’s shoulder to make her intent clear without actually drawing it.
“Damn it!” Felt cried out, the glass in her hand nearly dropping, her face turning pale mixed with sudden surging anger.
“Long time no see, Sword Saint, and the little thief child,” Elsa continued, her smile widening slightly, her eyes shifting from Reinhard to Felt with barely concealed satisfaction—the satisfaction of someone who had long waited for an opportunity like this to fall right into her hands.
“Elsa Granhiert,” Reinhard hissed, the name slipping from his lips like a curse, his eyes never leaving the movement of the woman’s hand still close to Merope.
“Let her go. Now.”
That name—Elsa Granhiert—spun in Merope’s head, sounding foreign yet somehow carrying immense weight when spoken with such serious tone by Reinhard.
She turned her head, looking at the woman she had trusted wholeheartedly just hours ago as her own knight, pure confusion still dominating her face.
“…Iris?” she called softly, her voice small, a mix of disbelief and hope that this was all just a misunderstanding easily cleared up.
“Ah,” Elsa turned slightly toward Merope, her gaze softening for a moment—not guilt, but something closer to amusement at witnessing an innocence surviving even in the middle of a situation like this.
“Sorry about that, Merope. Iris isn’t my real name. I thought you didn’t need to know my true name—afterward, it wouldn’t change anything about your offer this morning, would it?”
“Merope, listen to me carefully,” Reinhard cut in, his steps slow, very slow, shifting sideways to find a better angle without giving Elsa a reason to act rashly.
“This woman is known as the Bowel Hunter. She has killed hundreds of people for no reason other than her own personal pleasure. You must move away from her, slowly, toward me.”
“Killed…?” Merope repeated the word, her eyes shifting back to Elsa, trying to match such a heavy word with the same person who accepted her outstretched hand this morning with a warm smile.
“Partially true,” Elsa shrugged lightly, without denying it at all, her tone nearly like discussing a hobby of weaving or gardening.
“Though I prefer calling it art, rather than mere killing.”
“You—” Merope’s voice choked, something heavy gathering in her chest, no longer fear for herself, but a strange, painful disappointment unlike anything she had felt since her first day waking from the seal.
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie about wanting to be your knight,” Elsa answered, her tone almost sounding sincere, oddly mixed with the threatening situation she still maintained. You are reading on novelping.com, the official source.
“I just didn’t tell you everything. There’s a difference.”
“Enough,” Felt finally stepped forward one step, slamming her glass onto the nearest table, her eyes ablaze with clearly restrained anger since that name was first mentioned.
“Let her go right now, or I swear you’ll regret coming back here.”
“A cute threat,” Elsa replied, though her eyes were now fully fixed on Merope, ignoring Felt as if the kid were no more than a minor annoyance.
“Relax, Sword Saint. I don’t intend to kill anyone today.”
Before Elsa could answer, Merope—who had been silently processing everything with a chest choked by disappointment—suddenly moved her own hand, reaching for Elsa’s wrist still held close to her shoulder, not with violence, but with strange gentleness, almost like holding a friend’s hand.
“Elsa,” she said, her voice shaking yet firm, calling that real name for the first time, “if you really want to kill me, I won’t run. But I don’t believe you actually want to do that right now. Because if you did, you would’ve done it from the start, back in that alley, instead of waiting until here.”
For the first time since their meeting in that narrow alley, something resembling genuine shock—not just a hunter’s interest—appeared in Elsa’s eyes, her gaze locked onto the girl before her who, despite discovering the most horrifying truth about her, still showed no signs of wanting to let go of her hand.
Tense silence hung in the room, filled only by Felt’s heavy breathing and Reinhard’s held breath, everyone awaiting the next move from the woman known as one of the most feared killers in the entire kingdom.
…..
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