"Stupid King Lucas... stupid garbage management,"
Rodolf muttered to himself, spitting into the dirt.
"Calling off a guaranteed promotion. I should just pack my bags and head to the Elven Kingdom. Yeah, that's a brilliant idea. Work for the pointy-ears."
He paused, lowering his spear as a sudden realization hit his lazy brain.
"Ah... wait. Going to the Elven Kingdom is practically impossible,"
he grumbled, rubbing his temples.
"Those snobby high elves hardly let anyone cross their borders without three separate bloodline certificates and a written invitation from an elder.
I can't do that. Uhhh... I don't even want much! I just want a beautiful wife and a nice, quiet house. But not just any regular civilian wife—I want her to be strong, powerful, and elite. Just like me, of course."
"Then today is your lucky day, Rodolf."
Rodolf flinched, his head snapping up.
Two heavily armored figures stepped out of the shadows of the barracks.
They weren't standard slum patrolmen; they wore the thick, matte-black iron armor of the Iron Vanguard—the King's personal backup enforcers.
"The King's orders have changed again,"
the lead Vanguard stated, his voice muffled by a heavy steel visor.
"The silver-haired brat and the water-spitter are back on the execution list. Furthermore, King Lucas has commanded that anyone who hides them or tries to defend them is to be purged along with them."
Rodolf's arrogant smirk instantly returned, his eyes lighting up with venomous glee.
"Ha! I knew the King would see sense! Where are the little rats? Did they flee back to the aqueducts?"
"No,"
the second Vanguard replied, tapping a glowing tracking crystal in his palm.
"Our scouts spotted an off-duty guard carrying them toward the edge of the old tannery district. We already know their exact location. King Lucas has designated you as the squad leader for this operation since you have already engaged the targets and survived."
Rodolf stood up, spinning his spear with absolute, theatrical confidence as a gritty yellow aura began to hum around his arms.
"Squad leader? Perfect. Let's go put those gutter rats out of their misery. And this time, nobody is interrupting my promotion!"
__________________
Back at the stone cottage, the heavy oak door pushed open, and Barn stepped inside, carrying a large brown paper bundle. He looked completely exhausted, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.
"Market was packed,"
Barn grunted, tossing the bundle onto the table.
"But I managed to find some standard citizen clothes. Plain linen shirts and sturdy canvas trousers. They should fit."
Jayhon eagerly grabbed his set, quickly running behind the privacy screen to change. Hanjun, however, didn't reach for the bundle. Instead, his vacant gray eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where Beixin's old, dirty, shoes were sitting in a neat pile near the washbasin, ready to be burned or thrown away.
Hanjun stood completely still, his small frame looking incredibly tiny inside barns old clothes.
"If I don't wear her shoes..."
Hanjun said, his voice dropping into a quiet, hollow tone that made the room feel suddenly cold.
"...then what do I have left to remember her? The shoes already don't fit me anymore. If they are gone, it's like there's nothing left to prove she was even here."
Jayhon paused behind the curtain, a heavy, sad silence falling over the room.
Barn looked down at the silver-haired boy.
The weathered, wise general inside him completely replaced the lazy guard. He walked over, his massive, calloused hand resting gently on Hanjun's shoulder—not pressing down, just offering a steady, grounded weight.
"Listen to me, kid,"
Barn said softly, his voice deep and solemn.
"You don't need to carry a dead person's dirty rags around to keep them alive. Memories aren't kept in pieces of cloth or scuffed leather. They're locked right inside your gut, built into the person you become because they walked beside you. As long as you keep moving forward and staying alive, everything she taught you stays alive too.
Understand?"
Hanjun stared at his bare feet for a long, silent moment.
"That doesn't really make physical sense, big boar... but I guess you're right. I'll wear the new pants."
"So youre calling me big boar now?"
As the afternoon passed, the atmosphere inside the little house became surprisingly peaceful.
Barn eventually put his crooked helmet back on and left for his evening patrol shift, grumbling about standard guard duties.
With Barn gone, Elena completely shed her mature, elegant demeanor.
It was as if having children in the house made her feel entirely young again.
She spent hours running around the living room, teaching Jayhon how to properly hold a bow just for fun because she used to be an archer back then, and playfully trying to force Hanjun to show a single facial expression by tickling his ribs (which failed completely, as Hanjun merely stared at her finger with mild, unbothered confusion).
"Lady Elena,"
Jayhon asked, his cheeks flushed with a genuine, happy smile as he sat on the rug.
"If you don't mind us asking... how old are you? You look so young, but you talk about old wars."
"Oh, I'm practically an ancient grandma to you boys!"
Elena laughed merrily, clapping her hands together.
"I'm thirty-five years old! Though in elf years, that's basically like being a teenager. And my big grumpy bear Barn is forty-three!"
Hanjun, who was currently sitting cross-legged on the bench wearing a perfectly fitted brown linen shirt, tilted his head.
"Thirty-five is a pretty big number. We actually met another elf recently. Her name was Rika. She had these weird marks on her skin and was acting incredibly arrogant and high-and-mighty."
Elena's playful smile suddenly froze. Her emerald eyes widened in sheer, unexpected shock, her breath catching in her throat.
"Rika? You... you saw Rika here in Morvane? With Royal Crest Marks?"
"Yeah,"
Jayhon nodded quickly.
"She dropped right through the ceiling of the throne room. She was acting totally superior, calling us ignorant peasants, and she had these glowing green marks down her spine. Do you know her, Lady Elena?"
Elena's voice trembled slightly, her hands dropping to her lap. "Oh, heavens... I think I do know her. If she has the crest marks, she isn't just a normal elf.
She's the—"
STAB! STAB! STAB! STAB!
The heavy oak door suddenly shuddered violently as four jagged, iron spearheads cleanly pierced straight through the thick wood, splitting the timber with a horrific splintering crash.
Jayhon shrieked, instantly diving backward behind the stone hearth. Hanjun didn't flinch, his eyes locking onto the door as the spears were violently ripped back out, leaving four gaping, jagged holes in the frame.
The door was kicked off its hinges, crashing heavily onto the living room floor in a cloud of splinters and dust.
Through the wreckage stepped Rodolf, his sand-coated spear humming with a fierce, gritty yellow aura.
Two heavily armored Iron Vanguard soldiers flanked him, their black visors gleaming in the sunlight.
"Hello, losers!"
Rodolf shouted triumphantly, a massive, arrogant grin plastered across his face.
"Did you miss me?! The King changed his mind, and I'm back to finish the job!"
But before Rodolf could even level his spear at Hanjun, his lazy brown eyes drifted past the silver-haired boy, locking directly onto the woman standing in the kitchen.
Elena stood frozen, her hood having fallen back, her cascade of silk-white hair catching the light, her long, elegant elven ears completely exposed, and her flawless, breathtaking face wide with alarm.
Rodolf's jaw dropped completely open. His eyes went wide, his grip on his spear going entirely loose as he stared at her pure, unmatched beauty.
"What..."
Rodolf stammered, his voice turning into a high-pitched, completely dumbfounded squeak.
"...An elf?!?!?!"