The interior of the small house was a jarring contradiction to the rot of the alleyway outside. While the exterior walls groaned under the weight of neglect and the damp North air, the inside was a testament to a woman's refusal to let her spirit be crushed by poverty.
The air did not smell of the stagnant sewage or the metallic tang of blood that clung to Alen's clothes; instead, it carried the faint, defiant scent of dried lavender and freshly scrubbed pine.
Eon stepped further into the room, his head nearly brushing the low, soot-stained rafters. His eyes, sharpened by his High Elf lineage, took in every detail. The floorboards, though old and warped, were polished to a dull shine. A single table stood near the hearth, its surface clean enough to eat from. It was the home of someone who had lost everything but her dignity.
Martha's reaction was instantaneous. The moment her eyes moved from the imposing figure of the black-haired elf to her son, the wooden spoon she held clattered to the stone floor. A small, strangled gasp escaped her throat.
"Alen!"
She moved with a speed born of pure maternal panic, closing the distance between them in two strides. Her hands, red and calloused from years of hard labor and selling herbs in the cold, flew to his face. She cupped his cheeks, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the jagged, purple swelling that had closed his left eye.
"Oh, gods... Alen, your face... your eye..." Her voice broke into a frantic whisper. She turned his head left and right, her breath hitching at the sight of the split lip and the deep, ugly bruises forming along his jawline. "Who did this? Was it those men again? Those monsters from the market?"
Alen tried to pull back, his face flushing with a mixture of shame and stubborn pride. "I'm fine, Ma. It looks worse than it is. I... I had it under control."
"Under control?" Martha's voice rose, a sharp edge of hysteria cutting through her grace. "You're fifteen years old, Alen! You're just a boy! Look at you! They could have killed you! They could have taken you away, and I would have never..." She choked on her words, pulling him into a crushing embrace, her face buried in his shoulder as she sobbed.
Eon watched the scene in silence. Beside him, Meron shifted uncomfortably, the floorboards creaking under his weight. The merchant looked down at his boots, unable to meet the raw display of grief.
For Eon, or rather, for the soul of Jin-ho living inside him, this was a difficult sight to witness. Back in Seoul, he had seen people broken by debt, families torn apart by the cold machinery of society. Back there, it was hidden behind glass and concrete. But Here, the suffering was naked, illuminated by the flickering orange light of a dying fire.
After a few minutes, Martha pulled back. She wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron, a sudden, sharp steel entering her gaze as she finally looked at the guests. She saw Meron, whom she recognized immediately, and then her eyes settled back on Eon. She took in his elegant clothes, the sharp, authoritative line of his jaw, and the unmistakable aura of power that radiated from him.
"You," she said, her voice regaining its melodic, steady tone. "Alen said you helped him. That you stopped them. Is that true?"
"I did," Eon said simply.
Martha took a deep breath, smoothing her hair and adjusting her faded dress. Even in her distress, she seemed to remember the rules of hospitality that had likely been drilled into her during her better years at the Count's estate, Eon guessed.
"I... I have very little to offer," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "But please, sit. You are now guests in my home, regardless of how humble it is."
She gestured toward the two small, sturdy stools near the hearth. As Eon and Meron sat, Martha moved toward the small stone counter. She reached for a clay pitcher of water and two mismatched cups.
As she leaned down to gather the cups from a low shelf, Eon felt a brief, instinctive distraction. The cut of her dress was old and the fabric had thinned from years of washing. As she bent over, the neckline dipped, revealing the pale, elegant curve of her cleavage. In the dim light, the contrast between her porcelain skin and the rough, dark fabric of her dress was striking.
Jin-ho's mind flickered for a second. But He quickly looked away, focusing his gaze on the small, coverless book sitting on the table. He wasn't here for the aesthetics of a 'waifu,' as his modern mind might have joked. He was here for a reason.
Martha placed the water before them, her movements fluid and dignified despite the trembling in her hands. She offered a small plate containing a few pieces of hard, dry bread and a small portion of wilted greens, the little they could afford.
"Please," she said, her green eyes searching Eon's. "Why are you here? An Elf…you dont see many elves free nowadays, do you? ... Not to mention, you don't certainly come to the slums to save a gardener's son out of the goodness of your heart. What do you want?"
Eon set the cup of water down, his expression turning serious, as he understood this woman is not your typical woman. She understood the situation and adapted to it way too fast. So he also stopped beating around the bush and directly came to the point.
"Umm, then I'll be direct, Martha. I came to this village because I needed materials for my forge. I stayed because I saw a problem that needs solving. Those men who hit your son, they will be back. Although I didn't know at first, but it seems, They are part of a guild, a network of thugs that thrives on the weakness of this estate. Today, I broke their bones. Tomorrow, they will bring knives and fire."
Martha's face went pale, her hand trembled but she didn't loose her calmness.
"I have a proposal," Eon continued. "I want you and Alen to pack what you can carry and come with me. Tonight. You will stay in the Count's mansion, under the protection of soldiers and count Edger's house. You will have a room that doesn't leak, food that isn't scraps, and most importantly safety from the goons who think they own you."
Martha stared at him. For a moment, there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes, but it was quickly extinguished by a cold, hard bitterness. She let out a short, hollow laugh that sounded like dry leaves skittering over stone.
"The mansion?" she whispered. "You want us to return to that place?"
She stood up, her posture stiffening. "My husband, Thomas, gave his life to that mansion. He spent twenty years coaxing roses out of the frozen dirt and ensuring the Count's tables were never empty. He loved those gardens more than he loved his own rest. And when the cholera took him, when he lay in that bed gasping for air, do you know what Count Edger did?" she said the bed part while pointing to the bed just beside them.
Eon remained silent, watching her.
"He didn't send a doctor," Martha spat, her eyes flashing with a dormant fire. "He didn't even send a bag of grain. Throwing us out of our work was not enough, we didn't got several months payment too. He threw us out into the street while my husband's body was still warm. House Edger forsake us. They let a loyal servant die like a dog and threw his family to the wolves."
"And you want me to go back there again? Huh, what a joke. Okay, tell me, Why would I ever go back? Why would I trust anyone who sits in that chair?"
Meron looked away, the guilt of the village's collective silence during that time seemingly weighing on him. Alen looked down at his bruised hands, his jaw tight.
Eon didn't offer a hollow apology. He didn't defend the dead Count. Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Martha's green ones with an intensity that seemed to fill the small room.
"I am not Count Edger," Eon said, his voice dropping to a low, commanding register. "And as you can see, I am an elf. I am the man who took that mansion by force. I am the man who killed the mercenaries who were terrorizing this town. Count Edger was a fool who lived on the past. I am a man who is building the future."
Martha frowned, her confusion warring with her anger. "What future? You're just an Elf. The rumors say you're a slave who revolted. How are you any different from the thugs in the alley, just with better clothes and a bigger house?"
"Because the thugs in the alley want to keep you poor so they can squeeze you for silver," Eon said. "I want to make you rich just by using your own talent, so that I can build a kingdom."
He stood up, pacing the small room, his mind visualizing the system menus and the blueprints he had studied.
"Listen to me, Martha. This estate is failing because it has no purpose. It's a corpse being picked apart by vultures like Neir and the Merchant Guild. But I have a plan. I am going to turn the Edger estate into a sanctuary, a proper, functional territory that produces wealth through systematic methods."
He turned back to her, his hands gesturing to the room. "I am going to free every slave in this county. I am going to bring the elves out of the shadows and give them a place where they aren't hunted. But for that to work, the estate needs to be self-sufficient. We need food. We need medicinal herbs for the potions I intend to mass-produce. We need someone who understands the peculiar magic of the North's soil."
He walked over to the table and tapped the coverless book. "I saw this. Your husband's work, I presume. I saw the way you keep this house, even with nothing. You have the discipline and the knowledge I lack. I don't want a servant, Martha. I don't want a 'slave' to tend my roses."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"I want a partner. I want a Head of Agriculture. I want someone who can take the lands of House Edger and turn them into a garden, where you will grow herbs for my potions. Together we can bring enough wealth here to make the Merchant Guild look like beggars. I am going to create a place where everyone, human and elf alike, can live happily without fear of the 'eagle flying over the frozen trout. You get what I am saying?'"
Martha looked at him, her breath hitching at the mention of the tax idiom. She saw the sincerity in his eyes, a strange mix of cold, calculating logic and a raw, human desire for justice.
"You'r kidding right? You... you want to free the slaves?" she whispered. "All of them?"
"Every single one," Eon said. "But a free man with an empty stomach is just a slave to hunger. I need to build the economy first. And for that, I need you. I need people like you, who can help me do this. I'm helping you because you are also a key part to my plan, Martha. And in return, I will give you a life where Alen doesn't have to bleed for a copper coin."
The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of her decision. Martha looked at her son, then at the meager bowl of water on the table, and finally back at the black-haired elf who was promising her the world. The blueprints of a revolution had been laid out on her humble table, and the choice to join it was hers alone.
Eon stood there, waiting, his heart beating, thinking if his encouraging speech worked on her or not.
Author note: This novel needs more ratings guys. To every readers who is reading till here, but hasn't rated this novel yet, I plead with you to rate it please. It helps this novel more than you can imagine.