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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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“Hey. That only applies in elven society. But I’m human, not an elf.”
Shura stared at me intently.
“I am a half-blood abandoned by Moon Elf society. So I will act as I please.”
“Hey! That’s—”
“Master. Do you dislike me?”
I did like her. Shura was beautiful in a way no human woman could match. Besides, I loved elven women so much that my first love had been an elf. Part of me wanted to push her down right then and there and unleash my desires on her body.
“Listen.”
“Then why are you rejecting me?”
“It’s simple. Because you, an elven woman, would never betray me.”
“What?”
“And that means I might hesitate to send you to your death—or worse, I might not be able to abandon you at all.”
During the Age of Ruin, I had forced countless subordinates to their deaths. I sacrificed them to defend fortresses, ordered those who desperately clung to life to die so we could break through enemy lines. And in the final battle, I sent over 80,000 of my soldiers to their graves—most of them elderly, children, and women.
At the time, I didn’t hesitate. I was ruthless. Because I believed humans would betray me. That’s why I could coldly demand their deaths.
Yeah, I like pretty women. But I have a minimum standard. The kind of woman I want is one I can abandon without hesitation. Because in the Age of Ruin, you had to discard others to survive. If I let emotions sway me even for a moment, I’d die.
That’s why an elven woman won’t do. Elven women never betray the men they love.
“Then send me to my death. Abandon me. I will obey with my life.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t want you!”
“Just give me the order. I will strive to please you, Master.”
“That’s not the issue!”
“Then I will resolve that issue as well.”
This woman just wouldn’t listen. I turned away sharply.
“I’m not a patient man. Leave now, while I’m still asking nicely.”
“I can’t. I’ve already decided to follow you. If you refuse me, then kill me.”
Her stubbornness made my blood boil. My face twisted as I grabbed Shura by the collar and shoved her against the wall.
“Hey! Do you know how many subordinates I’ve sent to their deaths? Hundreds of thousands! And do you know how many died because I turned my back on them? Tens of millions! And now you want to add yourself to that list?! Don’t joke around!”
“Huh?”
Shura stared at me with incomprehension.
I forced my trembling hands to steady. She had never experienced—never even heard of—the war that brought humanity to the brink of extinction. A war unlike any in history. So she could never understand me.
“I’m not your savior. You surviving was pure coincidence. If someone falls off a cliff and grabs a branch to live, that branch isn’t their savior. Understand?”
“Master, you are no mere branch.”
Gritting my teeth, I gripped Shura’s throat until she could barely breathe. Then I pressed the tip of my sword between her brows.
“Last warning. Leave.”
“After my mother passed, my tribe abandoned me. I’ve been alone ever since. If you won’t take me in, then let me end my miserable life here.”
With that, Shura closed her eyes.
My sword hand trembled. Her words about being alone shook me. Because I, too, was alone.
Silence filled the room for a moment. Feeling Shura’s ragged breaths, I spoke.
“You’ll be abandoned eventually. And in your final moments, you’ll regret today.”
Shura’s intense red eyes met mine.
“I will never resent you, Master.”
“Yes, you will.”
Then I yanked her into my arms. My rough hands soon stripped away her clothes, leaving them scattered on the floor, and her beautiful body was pushed onto the bed.
—
A new day dawned. Awakening in the village inn’s bedroom, I sat at the desk counting money. A new expense had come to mind, so I was sorting some coins.
Just then, Shura emerged from the bath, her nude body wrapped only in a towel. She approached and draped her slender arms around my neck.
“Master.”
Her gesture was filled with deep affection. I gently kissed the tip of her pointed ear before finishing my coin count.
“Done washing?”
“Yes.”
I slid a stack of coins toward her—exactly 100 gold Leafs.
“Take this and visit the Hall of Divinity.”
Shura’s eyes widened slightly as she looked at my reflection in the mirror. Visiting the Hall of Divinity meant challenging to become a relic’s chosen wielder.
“You want me to take the Guardian trial?”
“Yeah.”
“But I…”
“Why?”
“I’ve heard that to become a Guardian, one must have the divine blessing and pure, untainted blood.”
I waved my hand dismissively.
“Nah, it’s all random.”
“Huh?”
I meant it literally. Aside from the Seven Relics and a few exceptions, most relics chose their wielders randomly.
I’d learned this at the start of the Age of Ruin. Back then, I was technically a Guardian, so I’d been summoned for the Relic Corps recruitment—humanity’s last hope. But there, I witnessed something absurd. The priests of the Divinum Temple were handing out relics to applicants. Without any selection process.
Baffled, I asked a priest I knew. He admitted that aside from the Seven Relics left by Saint Proxia’s disciples, most “relics” were fakes crafted by human artisans. He even whispered that the rituals for becoming a relic’s wielder were partly rigged—the rest was random selection.
“Most relics are fakes slipped in by the Church. The only real ones are the Seven Relics and the strongest Tier-2 relic, the Sun-Moon Heavenly Blade, Dalahan. And even those only appeared once during civilization’s dawn.”
“So?”
“Otherwise, they couldn’t make money. 100 gold Leafs is a sum even nobles would balk at. Why pay that much for a hopeless gamble? So the Church mass-produced the rest.”
Shura looked at me in disbelief.
“So it’s a scam?”
“You could call it that, or just good business. Besides, the Seven Relics and Dalahan are definitely real.”
I acknowledged those exceptions. The Seven Relics had historical proof as artifacts left by Saint Proxia’s disciples, the Seven Saints. And Dalahan had refused to choose a wielder even during the Age of Ruin.
Moreover, historical records stated that when Dalahan last appeared, it unleashed unimaginable power unlike any other Tier-2 relic—in the hands of Yosrahim Empire’s Grand Emperor, Siegfried.
Thus, people quietly regarded the Tier-2 Dalahan as a pseudo-Tier-1.1 relic, nearly equal to the Seven.
“I see.”
“So do as I say. Even a Tier-3 relic performs as well as top-tier magic gear. Getting one for 100 gold Leafs is a steal.”
Shura hesitated. Even if selection was random, the odds were slim. Countless people sought to become relic wielders yearly, yet on average, only one Tier-2 wielder emerged every five years, and maybe twenty Tier-3s annually.
“But isn’t this wasting money…? Honestly, there’s no guarantee I’d be chosen, right?”
“There is.”
I smirked slightly.
I hadn’t just learned that relics were fake. Watching the priests distribute them, I’d also figured out how anyone could become a wielder.
“How?”
“Rotate the essence component three and a half turns right, two and a half turns left, then press your thumb on it while gripping the handle and channeling mana. It’ll choose you as its wielder. Heh.”
“No way…”
“It works. Try it and see.”
Shura was flabbergasted. Just being chosen by a Tier-3 relic elevated one to near-saintly reverence. The idea that simple manipulation could achieve this was beyond absurd.
‘Speaking of which, what about Yojo?’
My real concern was Yojo. Unlike the Seven or Dalahan, Yojo lacked an essence component—meaning my trick wouldn’t work.
But I knew when Yojo chose its wielder. Why? Because I’d been there. Yojo would accept the first person to enter the Hall when it opened. If I timed it right, it might work.
‘Eh, it’ll be fine.’
My gaze drifted to Shura’s shoulder line.
Water droplets still trailed down her skin—she hadn’t dried properly. Damn it. Swallowing hard, I pulled her into my arms and pushed her onto the bed.
Shura tilted her head back, welcoming me. Though still sore from last night, she was ready to gladly accept my desires anytime.
Soon, I tore away the towel covering her body and, with blazing eyes, began another round of unending passion.
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