My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

Chapter 594

Chapter 594: An Elf’s Tale, Part

A new spring had blossomed again, and on the other end of the ever-shifting, ever-changing forest, the humans had finally forged their way through.

They were expanding, colonizing, the birth of a brand new nation unfolding before history’s eyes, and large ships brimmed the coastlines where many more vessels would migrate from across the vast seas.

Before human settlements and humble townships scattered the plains and mounds of the land, then gradually they began to grow, multiply, a civilization flourishing, prospering...

A civilization taking.

The lie of the land steadily began to shift, as boundaries and territories inevitably crossed and clashed. Frieden Rike was always rife with conflict. The expansive fields of green always drenched and soiled in an endless downpour of warm red – lush forests, and crystal-clear streams, now serving only as grim reminders of what once was.

As civilization continued to thrive and expand, so too did the strife between the different species inhabiting the land. What were once fleeting skirmishes had gradually devolved into senseless acts of violence.

Violence that escalated.

.....

Violence that soon proved too much.

From the same magnificent vessels ashore, they came – those terrifying figures cloaked in red. Exhibiting extraordinary mettle and prowess that could even rival their strength.

One by the one, the red cloaks hunted them, slew them, with efficiency and coordination that could not be contested. Where once there would live a tribe superior in numbers and might, even then, even they stood very little chance of staving off the unstoppable advance of those that roam in red.

And soon it was quickly found out how and why.

Fighting alongside those cloaked figures, in the midst of weapon clashes, the resonant boom of magic, Elves appareled in the densest iron turned their blades towards their fellow kind, dismembering, mutilating... and taking, always taking... without relent of any kind.

It was a harrowing sight, a crushing notion.

As such, the Elves were forced to run, and run, as the humans kept taking and taking.

Eshwlyn remembered the first and only home she’s ever abandoned – a beautiful plateau touching the skies, overlooking the sea as well as the blue horizon shining further, farther beyond.

It was here she’s only heard stories of them, swelled more the hatred she had for them, and it was also here, she first felt the heat of their blood slowly oozing down her forearm, trickling, dripping, the first like she’s taken on her own.

Cale.

She had kept the blade from that day still close to her grip. A hated memento, an ignored secret, stashed away... just in case... But nevertheless, they were just only stories, only whispers, only a single human wandering astray from a reality so far away.

That was until the humans managed to breach the forest on that particular day when a new spring had just blossomed.

Now, pulling specks of dirt and nesting insects from her tarnished white hair, she peered upwards at a far distance towards her old home from the deep burrow in the earth she had carved with her bare hands – recalling the feel of the cold wind against her skin, the sound of birds soaring past her, and the comforting warmth of her mother’s hands around her shoulders.

She yawned, the cragged, narrow opening to her den stinging her bleary eyes with a single ray of the morning sun, and with but a single glance, she could sense that the sun was far too high... and that she had slept for far too long.

It was because of that dream again.

Hiding low and out of sight, the harsh glare of torches blinding her, the frantic screams in the night deafening her – her usual white garb drenched red and dripping, once again, she was overlooking the plateau, feeling the bitter cold of the wind, the sound of birds fluttering from the chaos, and seeing the comforting warmth of her mother’s hands desperately clinging onto the edge of the plateau before the gleaming end of a blade severed her grip.

The last Eshwlyn ever saw of her mother was the unevenly severed fingers still gripping stubbornly onto the cracks – her final words that night resounding incessantly still in her mind.

“Nezelka nar Lenora!” she said to her before she quickly disappeared in all the chaos.

Yawning again, Eshwlyn noticed the wrinkling matting beside her laid bare and empty, faced only with books wide open, and sighed. “Dis Lenora...” before the limber elf clambered out of her den in swift fashion.

This land was still foreign to her, so many still unknown, so many to still learn.

Barely a week had passed since they left their old burrow, their fifth attempt at a home persisting, a hollow cavity in a trunk rooted deep in the most northern region – sadly already too infested by the stench of demons, a tribe of Sik, Nyemers, Succubi... almost every day a contention, rising friction, usually ending with their entrails crushed to mush under her bloodied grip.

They needed someplace quieter.

And quieter this prairie was indeed, Eshwlyn pressing feet beneath the soft soil, her gaze beset with the peaceful breezing sway of a boundless, wide meadow of all hues and types.

It truly was a beautiful land... a beautiful home.

A flowery patch billowing caught her eyes, and beneath the narrow green stems and tall grass, protruded a pair of narrow ears fluttering frenetically like tiny wings.

Then just as sudden, the fluttering stop, turned, catching sight of her, and leaving a trail of parted stalks in its wake.

A long white mane of silky, frazzled hair exited the meadow carrying wisps of grass with it entangled in its loose strands, but she didn’t seem to mind it, a delighted gaze hiding behind its snowy locks, glimmering a familiar green that so perfectly mirrored hers more than any watery stream ever could.

“Eshwlyn,” It called out to her, a perked nose twitching somewhere amidst the white. “You smell really bad, y’know?”

Eshwlyn bent down, sniffed back, then formed a smile. “Genta’mar ka, Lenora.”

With a shake brushing away all grass and grime, Lenora then began sweeping and pressing her long proper, unveiling the almost haughty look that momentarily overtook her expression.

“Smelling much better than you though,” She exclaimed in a mocking huff. “Lenta’gar tamil narez no.”

Eshwlyn ignored the remark, widening her eyes in a hammy attempt at playing stern.

“Pisc,” She slanted her stare, blinking only once. “Des?”

Lenora almost couldn’t resist letting out a giggle.

“Fish,” She confidently stated, nodding firmly towards the direction of a basket sitting to the side of the burrow, teeming with the shimmering scales of caught prey. “Des.”

“Glesno,” Eshwlyn said again. “Des?”

Another nod again, to the left this time where on a small patch of dampened, plowed soil, boomed a promising stalk of green. “Des,” Then rummaging her hands around behind her, she went on, “And a small gift that would go lovely on my sister’s messy, smelly hair...”

Lenora formed another grin, pulling out a small crown of plucked petals and flowers, reaching upwards on tiptoes; she placed the wreath around Eshwlyn, fitting perfect.

Stepping back, the little Elf enthusiastically wriggled her ears. “Des.”

Eshwlyn’s ears mirrored her little sister’s glee, but the loving smile she had plastered across her face, she couldn’t help but feel it a little strained.

“Lenora...” She slowly started, paused, then resumed. “Nes’na... lingus mala tenas to?”

The little Elf didn’t share the heaviness of her big sister’s tone, retaining her bright smile.

“It’s a beautiful language,” Lenora replied, her voice echoing a deep fondness. “Nes’na lingus pulchrana,” she reached again, briefly readjusting the crown of flowers that had slipped crooked. “Of course, I’m still practicing it – Di, A tenas ti.”

A long time ago, a Chronicles had visited the depths of the shifting forest in a curious venture, and shortly then after promptly succumbed to the many grievous wounds he had sustained for making such a grave mistake, and while she and many others took part in the delight of ripping her limbs and flowing them down a nearby stream, Lenora was instead keenly peering over the open pages of a collection of books that had laid scattered in the dirt from when she futilely struggled.

Lenora still held those books close to this day, always learning, always discovering... speaking...

“Eshwlyn senma kala’mur to...” Lenora muttered. “You have that look on your face again...”

The bigger Elf let out a long breath, feeling her lips no longer curving.

“Hu... mans...” She attempted in the vain hope she’d finally listen. “not... god-good... to you... I...”

Lenora remained smiling, answering quietly, “Neither are we...” before nodding at her sister’s words assuredly. “Des.”

Her gaze was soft, patient, Lenora always was. Even years prior, Eshwlyn already had the strong sense her little sister was different from themselves. She lacked the drive, they possessed. That born instinct, that intrinsic aversion to anyone or anything other than their own.

Where there should be animosity, there was instead curiosity. Where there should be no remorse, she would show kindness. Even in the destruction of their own tribe, the murder of the only family they’ve ever had, she’s only shown her sadness, loudly wailed her grief... but never once manifested her anger.

She always felt that Lenora was smarter, quicker, her senses even perhaps sharper, and the only fault she could undoubtedly ascertain was that she was still much younger, and so – foolish.

A dangerous trait.

Whereas she, had her strength... only her strength, only her brewing hatred.

They were sister of such polar opposites, it was a wonder they even got along. Why did they even get along?

Had Lenora turned out like her, things would have been different... much different... perhaps even better.

And yet, if she wasn’t this vastly different... Lenora wouldn’t be Lenora. The same little girl waking early ahead just to have a chance at meticulously binding petals in a meadow as a surprise present for her.

Elves do not present such things as presents. This gesture, this gift – it was completely, heinously human.

Yet so wholly wholsomely her too.

Even the foreign words she would oftentimes speak, usually revolting, putrid... but when from her, in the shape of her voice, somehow – even something as obscene, merciless... sounded so kind.

Mother probably was well aware of this trait to her too.

That’s why she asked, pleaded with her, wrestling with her grip, trying to wrench Lenora loose from her clutches and into her own.

‘Nezelka nar Lenora!’

Give them Lenora!

A chance, a golden opportunity to finally rid of an abnormality without bearing the scorn of the other tribe members for abandoning or killing one’s kin. To be finally rid of this curiosity, this kindness... this... humanity...

This poison.

Eshwlyn refused... feeling for the last time the comforting warmth of her mother’s hands sinking, embedding itself into her skin, before with a forceful kick, sent her hurtling through the chaos, over the edge, and hanging off the narrow crevice at the side of the cliff.

Humanity was indeed vile.

But Lenora was not.

She could never be.

“Ken’men, Eshlywn...” Lenora softly apologized. “Nes’na lingus, A tenor ma.”

Eshwlyn saw her eyes dimming, her smile fading, her curiosity... and once more, just like that night before, refused to see them disappear for good.

.....

“No... st-stop... speaking...” She tried to say, tried to speak. “It... not... ba-bad...”

The green in her gaze began to brighten again, blinking momentarily surprised. “Neya?”

“Ney,” Eshwlyn affirmed, her smile returning genuine. “Li-Little... speak...”

At that, Lenora couldn’t hold in her amusement anymore, and wrapping her arms around her sister, resounded tight muffled laughter.

“Little speak, got it!” She said, ears flapping even faster. “I promise.”

Eshwlyn blinked.

Promise.

Another word that sounded kind.

“Pro...mise...” She tried repeating, feeling the word shape her lips so gentle and light.

It felt nice.

“Yes...” Lenora repeated again, her kind smile staring up at her. “I promise.”

Like it’ll always be.

Always.