My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

Something far ahead sounded like a heavy crash, something blunt and hard slamming onto something firm and solid. 

Had a good guess on whatever the hell that could be. The third floor was unique in the fact that you risk bruising your shins black and blue if you were to ever find yourself scrambling blind due to the overabundance of rickety tables and chairs in every other room. 

And right now I was following a very suspicious trail of broken chair legs that led into a room not too far off. Usually, I wouldn't be able to tell one room from another - but this room I especially remember. 

Who would have thought we'd be having another private one-on-one in this room once more? 

I picked up the pace.

Like a thunderclap booming on and off, there went that crash again… with the double the ferocity.

Irene was completely seeing red. 

LIterally.

The moment I walked in, it's like her eyes were glowing scarlet - burning more like, honestly, I was petrified. Can you blame me? I mean, that glare? That face horribly warped by rage and anger? Name me a guy that wouldn't shit his pants in a second after seeing that, I'd gladly have him take my place. 

Chair lives apparently don't matter. Irene stood there center stage surrounded by countless wooden limbs piled all around… the remaining sole survivor creaking and squeaking for mercy in a trembling fist. 

"Pretty sure genocide's a war crime," I said, walking forward, mellowness my sword and shield. "That chair has a family - well - had a family."

Irene locked eyes with me, simmering in silence. This point, I knew her well enough to know that words weren't always how she spoke. Sometimes you only need a gaze to tell, and right now she spoke loud and clear.

"Not in the mood for jokes," I nodded. "Yeah, me neither. My bad."

That was the right thing to say apparently. For the teeniest, tiniest bit her scowl became less furrowed, and that chair held up and high clattered to the ground with a thud, and not a crash.

Did I just negotiate for an inanimate object's life and succeeded? I think I did. Good going.

Now to just keep it up.

"You're so angry." 

That seething red glowed brighter. "Oh, you don't say?" 

Her words were fast and aggressive, flinging it out her lips almost like daggers to a target, and I felt the every impact of every syllable.

"More than usually are," I correct myself. "I've seen you upset before, plenty of times. This is different. This isn't you upset, this is something else."

"He got away!" She yelled, and as she did, she gushed red, briefly, her palms dissipating crimson mist. "I let my guard down! I got lax! I should have known he'd come, I should have known he'd do something, but I didn't! And now? Now?!"

Pacing. Left and right, front and back, her feet swimming through a sea of wooden legs. Pacing was good. It means she was trying to control herself at the very least.

But this still wasn't her. The Irene I know wouldn't be stuck wallowing on one thing, she'd always just move onto the next thing. She'd anger, sure… but it never went beyond just a scowl, never once breaking composure. 

If this was that Irene, she'd be brainstorming right now for other possible solutions, everything through the lenses of a professional mindset. There was never any room for malice, grudges… and certainly not tantrums. 

This wasn't professional, then. This was personal.

How personal?

"What is Jay to you?" 

There was a rattling sound that domino'd all around as she abruptly skidded to a halt. Ooo, if I thought her stare was menacing then… this one said more than words ever could.

It was that personal…

"Your mother was the Demon Goddess in Kronocia," Irene had her lips in a narrow slit. "And I'm a type of demon. Answer me this, can you tell me just what do the two of us have in common with each other?"

I was a bit bemused, but I played along anyway. 

"Umm," I knew what it was but it was the most obvious, and I know how much she hates the obvious, but then I saw the look in her eye, and I gave up looking any deeper. "You're both called demons."

To my surprise, I didn't earn myself an even greater glare - but my reward wasn't all that great either. No glares, just pure bitterness in the slant of her brows.

"Yes, we're both demons, that's the only thing she and I have in common, the only thing!" Irene held up a quivering finger. "And because of that one single correlation we share… somehow that deemed it okay in the eyes of the Seven Churches to massacre every single one of us on sight.

"The Succubi, the Harels, the Sik, there wasn't a single demon that I know of that shared in Terestra's vision, let alone join her! Most of us has never even met her!" 

Her shouts were losing in their intensity, her tense gaze was starting to soften. I guess this was what she needed, a place where she could vent, a place where she could scream, a place where she could be heard.

And I was listening.

Every word.

"Demons a vague term. It's the same as humans. Some are bad, some are good. We're not all one thing and not the other. We never were. But they never listen, and they only saw what they wanted to see and what they saw was only evil.

"The Ancient Magi, those, they… they were the ones taking in apprentices, they were the ones cultivating sorcerers to massacre all of us one by one. It was them! Them, and all the Elf-Knights!"

I found my voice, funny how I could only find it once I heard that word. "Elf-Knights?"

"We Succubi are troublesome to deal with. Our pheromones, the abilities we possess. It's hard for a sorcerer to focus when we are all that they could possibly focus on."

She didn't sound proud of it. Like everything else, I only heard the bitterness.

"Remember what I told you? Elf-Knights are as resilient as they come. You think I got that from reading a book? If only you knew how many I've…"

Irene trailed away, she didn't need to finish that sentence, and I don't think she wanted me to hear it.

"And every time we defended ourselves, it just made things worse - it just further affirmed their beliefs on how big and scary we demons truly are."

Now it was all starting to come together. Why her stares at Ash were always reserved and filled with apprehension. How she came to be so distant and aloof. 

I remembered our argument way back so long ago - it was probably on this floor too when it happened. How callous she acted when faced with the prospect of leaving innocent people to die in the hands of a frenzied Matriarch. She got too used to making those kinds of sacrifices. 

Her story neatly tied everything up into a bow, but there was still one last loose strand.

"What does this have to do with Jay?"

"Everything," She muttered. "See, unlike the Churches… I don't view everything as black and white. I know not all Magi are bad… with this kind of thing, there's always an outlier, and in this case, my father was that outlier."

I felt my eyes widen. "Your father's a Magus?"

"Does that surprise you?" For the first time in a long time, Irene gave a smirk. "Where do you think I learn what I taught you?"

I… uh… good point.

"To be exact, he's not my actual father," She elaborated. "I was adopted young after elves slew my parents. He said he found me stash in a hole somewhere. I still don't know why he did what he did but he did… and I'm forever grateful. To me, he's what truly defines the title of an Ancient Magus.

"He never used his powers unless it was to defend me or himself. He never taught anybody who only wished to do harm with the knowledge that he had, and when he died… there wasn't any other like him. Every other Magus I've encountered over the years just tainted and sullied his name with their acts. They're not Magi, they're just bloodthirsty killers."

"And Jay?!" She was shouting again, briefly only. "He's no different - in fact, he's worse. The power he has, and this is what he chooses to do with it? This is what the power of a Magus allows him to do? I won't accept it, I won't stand for it, for him."

"So you asked me - what is Jay to me? Well, let me answer you. Jay is an insult to my father's memory, he is an ugly blemish to everything my father stood for… he is everything I despise - selfish, greedy, power-hungry, and no matter what it takes, I'm going to get rid of him, one way or another."

When she didn't say anymore, I took that to mean that she was done spilling her heart out. By the end of it, she actually was looking a whole lot better. 

For starters, her composure was back, the red in her eyes had gone and were slowly returning back to their usual hazel-brown. What's more, she was even crossing her arms again like she always does.

Irene was back again. Hallelujah.

"So," I nudged my head at her. "What are you going to do first in scrubbing clean that blemish?"

From her small pause, I could tell that was her first time actually contemplating on it ever since she walked down here. Can't blame her, massacring chairs kinda doesn't leave any room for rational thinking.

"Well," She said slowly. "Blight's gotta go first, that's for sure. We got two days, we need a new plan. Old one's a bust."

"Agreed," I said politely, nodding lightly. "But only for the first half. I'm ignoring the rest of your sentence."

Oh, that's a new expression on her face. I don't think I've seen her look so confusingly irked before.

"Excuse me?" 

"The plan hasn't changed one bit, Irene," I told her. "We're sticking to the summoning. Amanda's drawing the circle again already."

"No, no, wait!" Another new expression. I think I'll call it upset distress. "Are you out of your mind?!"

I smirked. "I'm not the one that was throwing chairs five minutes ago."

"This isn't a joke!" Irene pushed her way out of the pile of broken legs, reaching me, holding me, both hands seizing the collar of my shirt. "You understand? Without the proper procedures, you will die if you do this!" 

"I might die if I do this," I corrected, calmly staring back at her wide-open eyes. "There's a big difference." 

"I just told you to not let your achievements get to your head. You can't do everything! Not this, especially! Even that idiot Jay needed an entire building of black and white to pull it off! What you're saying is suicide!" 

"If I manage it, the Blight's as good as gone," I retorted.

"If you manage this, you will die."

"And?" I raised my brows. "I thought you were used to making those kinds of sacrifices."

New expression again. Or maybe not. Maybe she's made that kind of face before. Over and over and over again. 

I'll call it - conflicted.

"You're… you're…" 

"Different?" I suggested, slowly placing both of her hands back down to her sides. "If you really believe that then…" 

"I'm not going to teach you to kill yourself."

Her hand in mine. I gave it a squeeze. "I'm not learning this for my own gain, I'm not learning this to harm others. I'm learning this to help others. Going by your father's standards, shouldn't I be more than qualified?"

"You shit," Her words were in a whisper. "That's not… that's not fair. You know that isn't fair!"

"There isn't any other way," I said softly, but firmly. "If you teach me then at least I have a chance. You'd give me that chance."

Irene closed her eyes, and they stayed closed for a long time. I didn't speak, I just let go of her hand and gave her some space to contemplate. 

A minute later… a weary sigh left her lips.

"Your funeral," She said, conceding.

I smiled back. "Wouldn't want it any other way."