Chapter 117: hang tight

"See, now they are running away... filthy fucking illiterate elves."

Arina’s voice was raw, still riding the storm of her berserker high. Her crimson hair clung damp to her temples, streaked with sweat and splattered with the green blood of the loafer giant.

Her shoulders glistened where the ichor had dried like cracked paint, and as she moved around the fallen head, it was like watching a war goddess pace her altar.

The giant’s head itself loomed grotesque and enormous, twice her height. Its bark-flesh sagged as if it had rotted in an instant.

The smell was sharp, resinous, undercut by something metallic, like rain on iron.

Clap.

Clap.

Aiden’s hands broke the silence, two measured beats that seemed to echo across the clearing.

He wasn’t mocking. No—he was impressed. They all would be, anyone who had seen her rip the sky apart with that stolen serpent style.

She had made his clumsy birthright look like a child’s first sketch. The elves, once hidden among the branches, had scattered like leaves before a storm.

Of course they had. Who wouldn’t flee after watching a woman bend a giant into death’s embrace?

And yet—

Aiden felt it inside him, sour and sharp: jealousy. A sting beneath the admiration. She had taken his style, his, and bent it into art before his eyes.

"They don’t call you Slayer for no reason, I see," he said, his tone balancing jest and reverence.

He walked toward her, boots crunching over roots and broken stone. She was crouched now, knife in hand, prying at the giant’s eye. The pupil, a dark green pit, oozed mucus-like fluid.

"What the fuck are you doing?" His nose wrinkled as the smell hit—sweet and acrid, like rotting fruit laced with alcohol.

Arina didn’t flinch. She dug deeper, then drew out a vial from her belt, scooping the substance carefully. It shimmered faintly, iridescent, like moonlight trapped in swamp water.

"Yeah... materials found inside dungeons are great materials..." Aiden thought, the words drifting unspoken.

When she finally stood, her breath hitched. Her grin faltered. The wild fire in her eyes dimmed.

Her chest spasmed.

The pain seized her like an unseen hand. She gasped, knees buckling.

"Arina!"

Aiden was there in a heartbeat, hands gripping her armored shoulder. Or rather, the edge of her shoulder plate—because even in desperation, he didn’t know if she’d allow full closeness.

"I don’t know how long you’ll last like this," he muttered. His voice carried more fear than he liked.

Arina smiled despite the sweat pouring down her cheek. Her lips trembled but forced the words out.

"I don’t care. I’ll try to live, but if I die trying, I won’t mind..."

She was lying. He knew it. The tone was too even, too rehearsed. People never said what they meant; they wrapped truth in bravado like barbed wire around flowers.

Aiden thought: Then why the fuck did you resorted to kidnap somebody, if you didn’t care so much?

His mind chewed the contradiction. She spoke of not fearing death, but she clung to survival like a gambler clutching his last coin.

That contradiction—it made her human. And dangerous.

Usually, he preferred people that way. Those who buried their pain were easier to manipulate; a man who kept his wounds hidden could be pulled by them like strings.

But with her—no. He didn’t want to use her. He wanted to own her.

And to own, he must first understand.

"Come on, chop chop," he said lightly, offering his hand. His smile was a shield.

Her eyes flicked to his, and for an instant something raw was there—fear, or maybe longing. Then she snorted, grabbed his hand, and let him pull her upright.

"You are cruel, you know that?"

"Ha." He nodded toward the head she had butchered. "What you did to this poor thing should be called cruel." His boot nudged the massive cheek, ichor dripping like thick tears.

Her laugh was sharp, but there was no humor. "And you don’t even appreciate that I saved your life." She shoved his shoulder, playful in motion, serious in meaning.

"Ehhh... I would have survived. Give or take." He grinned.

But inside, he wasn’t sure. He could still feel the quake of that giant’s foot descending, the air squeezed from his lungs by the weight of its shadow. Without her... maybe he wouldn’t be standing.

"So where to?" he asked.

Arina pointed left. The forest opened there, and a colossal tree rose above the canopy, its trunk wide as a castle tower. Its branches stretched like arms, woven with light.

"There. We have a meeting."

"Don’t tell me... it’s an elf."

Her smile was sly. "Well, all elves aren’t the same. The community there accepts humans like us. Not like these thugs who attacked us."

Aiden raised a brow. "Ohhh..."

He realized how quickly he had judged an entire race, condemned them for one ambush. A thought pricked him—wasn’t that what others had done to his people?

"You’ll find what you want there?" he asked.

"Yes. The dungeon of elves only welcomes those tied to them. Blood, or bond. That’s why I had to take the nun with healing qualities."

"Amber," he murmured. "But Amber is not here, love."

Arina’s eyes hardened. "Then we improvise." She tilted the vial, sipping the strange fluid. Her throat worked as she swallowed. She sighed. "Haaa... that’s some good stuff."

Aiden’s stomach lurched. "Okay. Eww."

She chuckled, lips green-stained. "Most of what you use for medicine comes from elven dungeons. Don’t ’eww’ me."

His mind flicked back. Flora shoving a healing potion down his throat after Lilith had drained his ember, leaving him writhing on cold stone.

The taste had been bitter, burning, but afterward his veins sang with restored strength.

So that’s where it came from...

He returned to the present. "If they deny us, you’ll use....force?"

"Obviously. they still waged war at us, during the dungeon break.

They’re lenient only because they lost. If we hadn’t crushed them, they’d still be slaughtering us." Her voice burned with grudge, an old wound bleeding anew.

Aiden sighed, rubbing his temple. She doesn’t even intend to negotiate...

His gaze lifted to the towering tree, branches shifting in a wind that wasn’t there.

’Hang tight, elves.’ he thought. ’I’ll pray for you.’