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Translator: penny
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Come Along Nicely When I'm Asking Politely
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Seriously, it was ridiculous.
No, pathetic.
Even a bastard was still an Argent.
A human with the blood of that family, the one that dominated the continent's underworld.
And on top of that, the owner of Ira, whom they'd personally torn apart before driving her out of the kingdom.
Lucas Argent.
The moment Celsia recalled that name, she'd at least expected some minimal preparations.
A barrier.
An ambush.
Or maybe a few hidden assassins out of sight.
That much was basic for an Argent.
But.
The scene unfolding before her eyes was nothing like what she'd imagined.
True to the bastard's quarters, the security was lax, and the annex stood isolated.
Guarding its entrance was a single small, lightweight beastkin girl holding a shield in one hand.
Orange fox ears twitched perkily in the darkness.
Celsia's gaze naturally drifted downward.
Not the look of battle, but of appraisal.
"...With that?"
Before the words even finished, the answer was already clear.
Elsia said nothing.
Instead, she let out a very brief exhale.
That was it.
No vigilance.
No intimidation.
No danger signals.
This wasn't defense; it was closer to resignation.
'The bastard's quarters.'
The name wasn't given lightly.
For a moment, Celsia pictured the face of that man named Lucas.
A filthy bloodline.
Abandoned by his family.
All he had left were a few slaves and this rundown annex.
This little girl was probably the best card he could scrape together from his pathetic life.
Celsia's lips twisted upward in a sneer.
"Is he an idiot, or just clueless about reality?"
Didn't matter either way.
The outcome would be the same.
Celsia didn't hesitate any longer.
There was no need to deliberate, no reason to check with Elsia.
One wink.
That was enough.
The next instant, her body shot forward like the wind.
Her presence vanished completely.
No footsteps, no friction slicing through the air.
Elf.
High Elf, at that.
Ambush was instinct, killing as natural as breathing.
'Let's end this.'
Trash like that could be swept away without getting blood on your hands.
One blink, and it was over.
The small beastkin's head would arc through the air in front of the rundown annex.
But.
What reached Celsia's ears next wasn't the sound of flesh tearing.
Clang.
A short, solid metallic ring.
Sparks flew.
"...Huh?"
Celsia's body, mid-leap in the air, trembled faintly.
It had been the perfect angle.
A strike aimed at the throat, an inescapable trajectory.
Yet it was blocked.
By one small, compact shield, positioned exactly on that path.
Not blocked by strength, not matched by speed.
It was already there.
Celsia's eyes narrowed.
In that instant, the presence following behind came to an abrupt halt.
It was Elsia, arriving a half-beat later than Celsia.
Her face instinctively froze as she took in the scene at once.
At that moment, a calm voice rang out.
"You're the princesses from the Elf Kingdom, right?"
"You... what are you? You're no ordinary beastkin maid."
Celsia's gaze dropped again.
Orange fox ears.
Petite build.
Maid outfit.
At face value, she looked like mere decoration placed at the annex.
But her toes were dug deep into the ground, her stance utterly steady.
Even in the moment she'd blocked, there wasn't a hint of her balance being disrupted.
Only then did Celsia realize.
This beastkin wasn't just standing there as she appeared—she was already fully prepared for combat.
And those eyes precisely split between Celsia, frozen in front, and Elsia, holding her breath behind.
"My name is Piel. I'm the head maid guarding this annex of Master Lucas."
"...Head maid?"
Celsia let out a mocking laugh.
"A runt like you?"
It was strange.
This beastkin wasn't boasting about blocking their ambush.
No wariness, no bluffing.
She was simply in control of the situation.
Piel gripped the hem of her skirt with both hands.
A polite maid's curtsy.
But when she raised her head, her eyes held no deference whatsoever.
"If you withdraw now, I'll pretend the earlier incident never happened."
"...What?"
"However."
Piel's gaze swept over Celsia's throat, then Elsia's chest.
"If you still charge in despite that, I'll subdue you both just enough not to kill, per my orders."
Silence.
"Subdue us..."
"...without killing?"
They confirmed, asking again.
"A pipsqueak like you?"
Piel nodded.
Shortly.
Without the slightest hesitation.
"Yes."
As that single word fell, an indescribable sensation crawled up the sisters' spines.
Disgust.
Humiliation.
And a clear sense of wrongness.
This beastkin knew.
Exactly who stood before her.
High Elves.
Princesses of the Elf Kingdom.
Yet there was no flicker in her eyes.
No fear, no bravado.
They were the eyes of someone who'd already reached a conclusion.
'Subdue.'
Eyes that defined the current situation that way.
Celsia's lips twisted.
Right.
This wasn't mere provocation.
It was a declaration that she didn't even plan to kill them.
To utter the word 'subdue' against High Elves, princesses of the Elf Kingdom—it was the utmost, worst insult.
"Celsia."
A low, sunken voice.
"Let's kill her."
"Yeah."
A short reply.
The next moment, the air shifted dramatically.
Elsia, standing behind Piel, moved slowly.
The hem of her dress lifted, and daggers gleaming with light dropped one by one from within.
But.
Before they hit the ground, the daggers stopped.
As if seized by invisible hands. And then they floated in the air.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The last one remained gripped in Elsia's hand.
A total of five.
Piel's gaze swept over the daggers.
"...Not Creation Type, then."
A calm analysis.
"Weapons prepped for immediate use, amplified with Enhancement Type... and that stability in midair suggests auto-tracking capabilities as well?"
The moment she heard that, Elsia's lips curved up ever so slightly.
This little brat... figured all that out just from this?
The fight hadn't even started.
She'd only shown her preparation.
That made it even clearer.
This wasn't luck or bluff.
"Spot on."
A curt admission.
With those words, the five daggers floating in the air quivered faintly.
"Five Venoms Frenzy—that's the name of my magic. These daggers don't need individual aiming. Once they lock onto prey even once—"
Her gaze fixed on Piel.
"They hunt until breath fails. Until the blood runs dry and the heart stops. They're venom-laced barbs that tear into fleeing prey without mercy."
With that, the five daggers began circling in formation.
Slowly.
Without a single waver.
Above Piel's head.
Front, back, left, right, and directly overhead.
Perfect encirclement.
No room to flee.
No angle to block them all at once with that tiny shield.
And that wasn't the end of the problem.
"Nice one, sis."
"Then we'll handle this side."
Two voices rang out from behind, at the exact same height and spacing.
"...Clones?"
Piel twisted her body immediately.
What entered her view was the sight of the elf princess—with the same white hair, same face, same smile—not one, but two.
"Hee hee."
"Why? Surprised the princess went from one to two?"
"Don't worry, though."
"We'll fairly squeeze and burst your heart at the same time."
The two didn't alternate speech.
It was as if one mouth spoke from two bodies simultaneously.
In that instant, Piel's mind reached a conclusion.
Single ego.
Not ordinary clones.
'Fission Bodies'—mana split and emitted outward.
Emission Type base, reinforced with Creation Type for form and texture.
That level of perfection meant they weren't mere illusions.
Capable of physical interference.
Meaning highly lethal.
"So, how shall we..."
"...cook you up?"
"That little shield can't block all of us now, can it?"
Giggle.
Laughter overlapped from three directions.
The attitude of overlooking a finished fight. Leisure born of assumed victory.
This formation was a perfected slaughter formula the two High Elf sisters had used countless times inside and outside the forest.
Against bandits, slave hunters, mercenary bands crossing borders—never once failed.
Tracking daggers from the front.
Simultaneous strikes from the fission bodies behind.
Impossible to dodge, impossible to block.
So they were certain.
This wasn't a fight; it was cleanup.
"It's over!"
"Die!"
"Scram!"
The signal dropped simultaneously.
The five daggers in the air bent their trajectories at once, while the two Celsias from behind charged almost overlapping.
Precise simultaneous strikes at the heart.
The next scene should have been the young beastkin's corpse, riddled with blades.
...Thwack.
"Guhk?!"
"...Huh?"
"C-Celsia!"
But what appeared was an entirely different sight.
"Certainly."
Piel's voice was astonishingly calm.
"I judged it impossible to block daggers incoming from all sides with one shield."
The next instant.
Grip.
Piel's left hand clenched.
The five daggers that had shifted trajectories midair to track her.
All of them were now in her grasp.
As if they'd been there from the start.
'Caught them... out of the air?!'
Before Elsia's thoughts could process that far.
Thud!
The body of the lead Celsia charging from behind folded forward, halting in midair.
Piel's shield was no longer a puny bodyguard trinket.
A weighty iron shield etched with dragon patterns.
Its pointed lower edge had stabbed dead-center into Celsia's solar plexus.
Not even a choked gasp escaped.
Just—
Thump.
Her body hit the ground.
"Guhk...!"
Foam bubbled from her mouth, the fission body's form distorting and fading.
In that moment, certainty vanished from the remaining Celsia's face for the first time.
The battle's momentum had flipped completely.
Piel still stood firm.
Her posture, her breathing—without the slightest disruption.
She dropped the five daggers from her hand—clink—and raised her head.
"I'll ask once more."
Her voice was low and clear.
"Will you come inside quietly?"
The elf princesses' pupils shook.
"Or."
Piel lightly slammed her shield down once.
Boom!
"Would you prefer to get your asses spanked until you piss yourselves and dragged in?"
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