Zilvra looked up and saw a tall figure descending the steps. The pointed elf ears were clearly visible, but he was dressed in the luxurious attire commonly worn by human nobles. From his voice, the accent of the Elf Language was still clear, just with a bit more huskiness.
However, his face was completely ruined, crisscrossed with scars like randomly dug ravines, leaving the entire face a complete mess. Zilvra secretly calculated the arrangement of those scars and discovered that the cracks seemed more like they were self-inflicted.
An elf who would take a knife to stab his own face now had the help of the Undead Magic Bead, possessing both madness and danger. Zilvra gently let out a breath and spoke in the tone of a Dark Elf: "Male reptile, is there no chair in this place of yours, forcing me to stand?"
