Becoming Legend - Chapter 349: Hunter Exam: Theatre of War, V

Even under the dimmed light, her skin was tanned, her eyes were thin as daggers, and her nose was as pointy as her stares, and she smelled like Sas Koron only lesser—much lesser.

“You’re an elf,” Ned said as he held his breath while the dagger touches the skin under his neck.

“Careful, child,” the elf said, lips shaking. Unable to hide the trembling of her lips, she bit them instead. “You’re only alive because I wanted to.”

“Let me see your face.” He then turned around, not bothered by the dagger on his neck.

Her eyes were shaking as though Ned was one step away from being gutted as well as her body under the light coming from the torches behind them. Ned wondered what made her so angry?

Now that Ned was closer at the elf, he realized what the reason was: shackle on her neck barely visible under the fine thread of her blonde hair.

“I won’t hurt you, elf—”

“Don’t call me that!” Right after she swore, she made a quick stab at the dagger that was aimed precisely at Ned’s neck.

The stab was intended to kill Ned without remorse and her anger drove her that. Anger for some reason she can’t control. Ned supposed the shackle did all the trauma.

The dagger stopped half an inch across his neck.

Crimson liquid leaked from the gaps of Ned’s fingers as he stopped the dagger by holding it with his hand. Blood trickled on the ground from Ned’s elbow.

“What is your name?”

The elf’s eyes widened, so much, Ned could see a speck of green and blue on her sandy eyes.

The language Ned used was the language of the elves as he spoke to the elf with empathy.

“Nwash yd yiahsoluroon to slak esh-skasten?” she said. Her eyes met Ned’s with much curiosity than anger.

For Ned, this was actually the first time that he saw an elf of the finest form. Sas Koron wasn’t an elf anymore, she was taken by her desire so much she evolved to something else. But the one in front of her was too young to be a slave. She might be around 150 to 200 years old. Too young to be a slave indeed.

“Let’s just say I have an elf friend who taught me to speak your language.” Ned showed a smile, he was trying to sympathize with the elf to gain her trust. “I’m Ned.”

“Naksthoon!”

“Impossible?” Ned lifted his hands in submission. “I say no. How do you think I understand you?”

Ned was more than curious as to how the elf could understand him while he spoke the language of the elves from the empire of Sskat. It shouldn’t be possible since the language he was using was light-years away from Earflgard.

“Human and elf. Friends? Your friend must be crazy to believe a traitor.” The elf shook her head. Her blonde hair fluttered so much that Ned saw what made this elf so so angry about humans. Being a slave? They might accept it. Cut their hair? Surely they wouldn’t mind. But looking at the elf, Ned now realizes what made her anger to humans manifest so much. Her ears—no. It would be an insult speaking about her ears since she got none already. The cut was rough on both sides, it wasn’t clean. Whoever did it, they took their time cutting her ears and loving it for sure. Whoever did it, Ned hopes they rot in hell.

“I’m sorry,” Ned said. Genuine sadness and anger rising within him. His heart pounding so much his vision was blurring, and his hands were shaking. He bit his lips, trying to hold the tears. He wouldn’t cry; he couldn’t cry. But why? Why now? He thought. Then flashes of his friends Calahir came transitioning in his thoughts. That must be why… He thought.

No matter how Ned hides his own feeling, he was, after all a human with emotions. He shifted the dagger to his right side, blood still leaking from his finger. Instinctively, he grabbed the elf by the shoulder and hugged her even before the latter could react.

The elf tried to push Ned, but no matter how hard she does, Ned just won’t move. She struggled to the point that she lifted the dagger once again and pointed it to Ned’s side, just below the gaps of his arm.

Ned locked her by the arms, cheeks brushing each other. “Do it.” Ned held her even stronger. In his mind, was the sacrifices Calahir has made to him. Perhaps, Ned’s action just now was his way to thank his friend. “But I won’t move. It’s either you stab me now, or accept the fact that not all of us are the same.”

“I won’t stab you,” the elf said eventually as she lowered the dagger. Ned felt her body loosen, and she held her even stronger. This was also the first time that Ned hugged someone with his emotions pouring out. “But I’ll reconsider your words. Now, Ned the human child, let me go.”

And so Ned did while questioning his feelings. Perhaps it was the torches that made the room warm, but it could be him or the elf. But Ned never cried. He promised he won’t; promise he kept.

Ned let her call him a child since, in fact, he was indeed in a body of a human child. “Your name, elf?”

“A human calling me elf,” the elf said, tucking the dagger in her waist where other items were hanging. Ned counted a pair of knives, a dull stone, and a root? “I am once called Tiathe the Steadfast. Now…”

“You don’t need to.” Ned raised a hand, the one with his blood leaking. “Tiathe is fine.”

Looking at the bloodied hand of Ned, Tiathe immediately raised a finger. Without muttering incantations or gestures, a ball of green light shot off her finger and went straight to Ned’s palm.

Ned’s hand felt like it was submerged in a hot-spring: warm that ran even until his elbow.

Then before he could blink, the cut was gone. All that was left was the blood that dried under his wrist down to his elbow. But the cut was gone—healed.

Ned nodded which prompted the latter to smile, white teeth gleaming under the torches’ light. He knew that elves don’t want to be thanked by strangers. He knew that what she did was her own accord and she doesn’t want something in return.

“I suppose you’re the one the minotaur pledged fealty?”

Ned’s suppose was right, and more than that. It was because Tiathe sensed that Ned’s emotions were genuine that he gained her trust and told her what they both don’t want to hear anymore: “I am a slave, Ned.” She lifted her hair and showed Ned the iron shackle locked around her neck. The irony was as thick as her arm and was deeply carved of markings Ned could barely understand as it was coated with rust. But Ned saw no sadness in her eyes, it was because she has been a slave for 20 years after The Second Race Wars between elves and humans. The length of time being a slave must have forced her to forget what sadness really was. In the human calendar, when she has become a slave she was around 2 or 3 years old. Ever since, she was passed on to different masters until one day, 10 years ago, a Hunter from the Association took a hold of her and became their slave.

Now, she was in the Wrath Island to manage a community of magical beasts, mostly Kruka-toas, and help the Association segregate a good hunter from the best hunter.

“You are saying, this encampment here is deliberately set-up by the Association to challenge the candidates?”

Tiathe nodded. She was leaning against a wooden wall on one leg while holding a fruit that looked like to be a cross between a lemon and a sweet potato. “Not entirely,” Tiathe said. Her voice was calm, it was contrary to what she has been through. “This encampment has been here for years. Minron and I met also on this island. We fought. Now, he works for me.”

“Unlucky to be Minron,” Ned said. Even he was surprised to crack a joke, he supposed. But they both laughed.

Unlucky to be him, indeed, since Tiathe was a pure Wood elf. He wasn’t just agile (which was a trait by almost all elves) but also very durable once she conjures spells aligned to her element which was nature. Ned doubted she could win without using Overclock, and that was him thinking to use all that he got.

Tiathe further explained to Ned that candidates who were caught will be held captive until the first phase of the exam is over. Stating that: “Only the best were to pass.”

Ned can’t argue more.

Tiathe ate the fruit she was holding, juices leaked between her lips down to her neck. She wore a monster pelt, which was unusual for elves, Wood elf to say since most of them would rather wear armors or clothes made from nature.

Ned asked about the challenge, and Tiathe gladly answered, “Defeat Minron, and I’ll let you pass with 500 points added to your Claim. I know you are genuine, Ned. For that I thanked you, and I trust you—maybe. But you’re not my master. With this lock on my neck, I only follow my master. So, for you to pass this part of the island. You have to defeat Minron.”