CHAPTER 91

  A LEGEND’S ORIGIN

  One after another, the words flowed between them—Hans and Delimira chatting at length, their voices rising and falling with topics both weighty and light. Some thoughts mattered, others drifted into chuckles. This had been long due, pushed aside by their separate and rigorous training paths. But now, in the bustling training ground they’d found a quiet spot.

  At one point, Delimira tilted her head and asked, voice soft but unflinching, “Hans, why don’t you burn with revenge? After everything—your family, your country’s fall from high to Abyss. Reina, Eleanor, Bernard… even Xandor and Eclipse. You’ve left them be. Why don’t you feel the rush of—”

  “My answer is different from yours, Deli.” Hans interrupted, rising to his feet, “I don’t know the pain of losing. Not the way you mean. My father’s been a ghost in my life since I can remember. And Parv... it was just a name, not a home. I missed the idea of a father, yes—but I never truly knew him. I will get revenge when it’s due. Someone I respect told me that revenge must never be the end but a passing wind pushing you further.”

  He looked away, his voice turned heavy.“But if something like that ever happened to Grandpa, Grandma... or even you? That would be different. I’d walk into hell. I’d burn this world to ash if I had to. That’s a loss I wouldn’t survive without vengeance.”

  “Haa!” Delimira exhaled, clapping her knees before rising to her feet, “I’ve repeatedly told myself—I had to be strong. Stronger than anyone. I blamed every failure on others, used it to fuel me. And it worked. It got me here.”

  She paused, her voice sharpening. “I hated that he threw himself into that suicidal expedition, just to be acknowledged by a bunch of sore losers who never wanted him in the first place. He left us to fend for ourselves. And I hated my mother for setting it all in motion.”

  Her tone turned mild, as she looked at him, a smile unknowing etching over her face. A warmth Hans had never seen on her.

  She continued, “But after I met you, I started to question it all. I thought maybe... maybe I was wrong. And that made me bitter in a new way. But that victim’s mindset? It shattered when you came back from the Deadlands with that damned scale. So... thank you, Hans Parv. You saved me.”

  Hans gave a small laugh, shrugging. “Well, I do that occasionally. I like hearing this.”

  “So, you’re still not going to tell me what you’re planning?” Delimira cleverly inserted the question.

  “What?” Hans blinked. “Wait—was all that opening up just a ploy to get me to spill the beans, Winters?” He gave a dramatic shiver. “You’re terrifying.”

  “Maybe,” she said, eyes gleaming. “Maybe not. I told you—there’s no weapon more dangerous than sincerity. Lesson learned?” She raised her brow, and Hans couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or run.

  She giggled, covering her mouth with the back of her hand—a delicate gesture that only deepened Hans’s uncertainty. He found himself wondering how much truth lay buried beneath her words. With a small shake of his head, he gave up the effort. Understanding her intentions was exhausting, and his mind had never been trained for such subtle games.

  “So,” he said, easing the conversation in a new direction, “have you decided where you’ll go for your apprenticeship?”

  “Not yet.” She tilted toward him. “Where are you going?” She asked.

  “I’ve to go to Parv.” Hans answered, “As long as they formally send a letter, Node will allow me to participate on the note that I’ve trained there— ”

  Listening that, her expressions faltered, “I can’t come, right?” She sounded disappointed and Hans’s nod didn’t improve that either.

  “I’m going there for the first time too, Deli. I’ll pick you and Chris next time.” He pointed at her, “You—go to Clandor. Your mother has established herself as the daughter of Highborns. No one in their right mind would mess with you now.”

  “You don’t understand, Hans—”

  “Hey! I might visit there incognito. Might need some help too. Are you sure you are going to leave me dry there.”

  Hearing this, she sighed, exasperated yet amused. “ I can’t do that. Who knows what kind of bloodshed you’re going to cause if I’m not there to cover for you.”

  “What about Chris? Where is he going? Gramp’s associates from way back or somewhere else—”

  “He decided on Clandor.” Delimira answered, and Hans was a bit surprised; he thought after becoming his first knight, Chris would show some restraint over showing his affection to Clandor, but thinking about his family living there. He understood. “Man, I’m a lenient master.” He chided himself.

  Delimira, understanding his inner thoughts, interjected. “You might’ve skipped over it, but there’s a plague of Parvian presence in Clandor these days. They’ve signed half a dozen contracts, treaties, and who knows what else.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  She pointed a finger against his chest with a smirk. “Read your own damned geopolitics, you dumb prince.”

  “Why bother? Arat takes care of it.” Hans answered as if it never mattered.

  “It’s your damn nation, Hans. Be responsible.”

  “Oh. I’ll be responsible so that none can bat an eye at my country. Rest is what ministers are for, Deli.” He turned to her, a mischievous creak on his face. “So Delimira Winters is finally going home.”

  “That is not my home.” She hissed, “it never was and it never will be.”

  Hans couldn’t refute. He didn’t know what kind of situation she was in—what silence she had endured, what distance others had placed between them and her. Even during the time of civil war, he’d never once seen her draw close to anyone. But then again, no one had reached for her either.

  “Build your own home then— Concordia is a great option. Wanna come to Parv? Strategically, your value is immense, Deli.” Hans suggested what came to his mind, and it irritated her further.

  “I can’t. No, I should not.” She snapped, simmering in frustration. “I never felt so powerless over any situation than this—”

  “Quit overthinking, Winters. Just pick the damn road and make it the correct one. See ya.” He picked up the speed, flying, and left her in thought.

  In one week, they were all scheduled to leave, but without telling anyone only Vanir, Hans disappeared, leaving his trusted minion to take care of the aftermath, which he handled swiftly.

  In Grimgar, Sylvetor Duchy, Hans pinpointed the possible location of the encampment. A small area designated inside the closed summer castle of the Sylvetor family. “Time to sneak inside.” He muttered, transforming into an elf.

  With a swift motion, he covered himself in a dirty rag, a makeshift hood, and smeared himself with dirt and grease, proving his struggles to reach the place of his salvation. “Help me.” He shook the iron gates of the boundaries.

  “Help me,” he shouted again and kept it until a guard reached him with a poking spear.

  “Who goes there?” Another followed, threatening Hans, now Theodred.

  “Help. Please send me home— Clandor.” Pleaded Theodred, showing his messy elven face.

  “So you are one of the slaves.” The guard who came earlier said. “Come in then?” He gestured.

  Hans startled a little; they were letting him in this easily, without any check. And his worries got answered by the supervisor. A knight with clanky armour. “A free slave.” The knight supervisor amused.

  He gave the order with a lazy wave of his hand. “File a report — say I bought him from someone legitimate.” He stepped closer , lifting Hans’s head by the chin. Observing him closely. “This is a pretty one. Raise the price to a hundred gold. This is some good fortune, I’d say.”

  The words slithered from his mouth like rot, and within moments, his two underlings—the same soldiers from earlier—had the forged documents prepared. It was clear this wasn’t their first rodeo.

  “Corruption has benefits.” Hans ate his words in relief.

  For a precaution, he had already crafted a backstory: captured by slave traders at a young age, escaped when an opportunity struck.— A foolproof story since the dead don’t speak.

  If pressed further, he was ready to disclose that he poisoned them by grinding seeds of a local fruit called Crimbera, which consumed in concentrated quantity could paralyse others for a short time, as he actually did before reaching this place. But that was unnecessary now.

  With timid steps, he entered the encampment. Almost everyone was in the same condition as him, but there was a difference: Hans did willingly, but that wasn’t the case for them. He genuinely felt bad— maybe it was his blood speaking— but he was itching to wreak havoc on those who had put them into this state.

  “Breath, breath… I’m not here to do god’s work but mine. They are not my responsibility but Clandor’s.” Convincing himself, he stepped inside. The eyes turned to him; they were dead like a fish. “I guess that’s what slavery does to you.”

  Breathing deeply, he sat in some corner. It was as silent as a graveyard. These people were going to be escorted back to their family, but there was no joy, not even a hint of hope in the environment. It was an unsettling, eerie feeling.

  Hans couldn’t contain himself and slid near to a woman, an elven woman who had visible punching marks all over her face, her head shaved clean. “You are going home, why don’t you smile a little?”

  The woman lifted her gaze, looking at Hans as if she was in front of some idiot. “You…were you nabbed when you were little?” She asked, her voice breaking.

  Hans nodded, “Yes.”

  “Then you don’t know, do you? A slave returning to Clandor is nothing but a waste of air. For honour, nobles and royals say it’s a good thing to get their people back, but deep down, the whole society sees you as a tainted one. Most of the people here know it, you don’t? There is not much of a life waiting for you back home. You’ll only have the option to work as lower-class labour. Beaten by the supervisors for their pleasure or work instead of human masters here.”

  “Don’t nobles care? They boast they saved this many of their people. Don’t they care how we live in the great Elvenland?”

  “You naive fool.” A young man, who didn’t know where to channel his anger, exploded onto Hans. “Say those things after you are repeatedly sold by your saviours. It’s already my third time here—”

  “Simon. Shut up!” Someone, a young girl, much younger than Hans in Theodred’s form, pleaded for him to stop. “Please, Simon. If they hear you. They’d do the same as they did to Mandy.”

  Hans found that abhorrent. “This is the racket Sylvetor and Highborns are running—disgusting, and they call themselves the Honourable nobles.” An aura of light emerged inside him. Slowly, some white threads of visible power surfaced, surprising the people he was talking to.

  Fortunately, he regained composure, gesturing them to keep this to themselves, and they unanimously decided to do so. But even an illiterate knew it was an aura manifestation, and even an idiot of elf knew only royals have the light aura.

  “Maybe. This endless cycle will stop.” That’s what they thought, assuming Hans to be some secret investigator of the royal family.

  A bit of hope lit on those dead eyes, and a narrative to attract Reina manifested in Hans’s mind. From this point, he decided to turn the assumption of these three poor elves into a reality.