NOVPUB[Translator - Peptobismol]
[Proofreader - Demon God]
Chapter 190 – Kirrin’s Black Forest (13)
She was a human woman.
Standing alone, shining white amidst the Black Forest’s endless darkness.
Her name was Marian.
Recently, amidst the tangled conflicts of human nobles, Marian had been taken captive.
Sharian’s father had been hired for the job, though the details were too complicated for her to understand.
Her father never explained such things.
Not that it would’ve made a difference—even if he had, she wouldn’t have been able to grasp the complexities of human power struggles.
Sharian was still too young for that.
But she did understand what it meant to be a hostage.
And she knew how a hostage was supposed to behave.
Locked up in isolation, constantly watched, surviving on a single meal of dry bread and water each day—that was the fate of an ordinary captive.
Yet for some reason, this woman wasn’t treated that way.
Instead of being confined, she wandered freely through the Black Forest, interfering in matters that had nothing to do with her.
Like now—persistently asking a crying dark elf why they were upset.
But Sharian had no intention of answering her.
"Why are you crying? Did something happen?"
When the woman asked again, Sharian snapped.
"Mind your own business and worry about yourself."
Sharian shoved past her, adding coldly,
"You could be abandoned and killed at any moment."
"Why would you think that?"
The woman’s voice came from behind her.
"Why do you assume something so terrible? Why do you say such cruel things so easily?"
Sharian ignored her and kept walking.
But at the woman’s next words, her feet stopped against her will.
"That’s not what you really feel, is it?"
"What do you know?"
Sharian spun around, her gaze sharp and threatening.
"You wanna lose your tongue?"
"You shouldn’t say things like that."
Marian’s voice was gentle, almost chiding.
"No matter how angry you are, you shouldn’t say you’ll cut out someone’s tongue."
"Hah. How ridiculous. I have no reason to keep talking to you."
Sharian scoffed, baring her teeth, and turned away.
"No one’s ever asked you before, have they?"
Once again, she stopped in her tracks.
"No one’s ever asked why you were crying. So you never learned how to respond."
"Shut up!"
Sharian shouted, her voice raw.
"You’re just some useless hostage, too weak to do anything but sit around and get captured!"
Her frustration boiled over.
"You get to wander around and stick your nose into everything only because of him! The only reason you’re not locked up is because they’ve already decided you won’t be leaving this forest alive! It’s not because you’re special! So stop telling me what to do!"
"I’ve never thought of myself as special."
"Then if you know your place, shut up and act like it! Understand?!"
"How about you act like the child you are?"
Her words enraged Sharian even more.
A dark elf wouldn’t normally tolerate such an insult.
The correct response would be to retaliate with equal force.
Yet this woman…
She just accepted it. No anger, no fear—only understanding.
That made Sharian furious.
Was she putting on this kind act to earn their sympathy?
Trying to ingratiate herself, just in case she lost her value and they decided to dispose of her?
Pathetic.
"You think I’m a child?"
A dagger was already in Sharian’s hand.
It hadn’t been conjured through magic—just smoothly drawn from her sleeve, so subtly that the woman hadn’t even noticed.
"You’re telling me to act like a kid? Should I? Should I really show you what a dark elf child can do?"
She pressed the blade to the woman’s throat.
Still, the woman didn’t flinch.
"Do you have a death wish?!"
"You’re not going to kill me."
Marian smiled, her expression warm as she placed a hand over Sharian’s.
"If you were going to, you already would have."
She wasn’t wrong.
Sharian couldn’t argue, so instead, she yanked her hand away, scowling.
She couldn’t kill her.
Not only because she was her father’s hostage, but because…
Even if she wasn’t, Sharian still wouldn’t have been able to do it.
It was because of her voice.
Her smile.
The way she looked at her.
Sharian had never encountered warmth like this before, and it unsettled her deeply.
No one—neither her father nor her long-dead mother—had ever treated her this way.
That was normal for dark elves.
Yet something inside her was beginning to waver, and that only made her angrier.
"You’re just pitying me, aren’t you? Because I don’t have a mother! Because you think I’ll be cast aside like the others!"
"Do you miss your mother?"
"…!"
The words struck deep.
Sharian recoiled, hurriedly tucking her dagger away.
This was too much.
She wasn’t used to this.
She had never had a conversation this long before.
To a dark elf, talking was nothing more than an exchange of information.
Yet why…
Why was she still listening to this woman?
No. This was dangerous.
She was a dark elf.
Born to be an assassin.
She couldn’t afford to waste time on some human woman.
Spinning around, Sharian took off running.
Damn hostage.
If she tried something like this again, she’d regret it.
Maybe next time, she’d take off one of her toes.
That wouldn’t be too noticeable.
As she sprinted through the forest, she gradually slowed until she finally stopped.
Wait.
That woman had been wandering the Black Forest freely.
Time to follow her.
She had to be up to something.
Even if it was just petty theft, there had to be something she could use against her.
More than anything, Sharian couldn’t let go of the frustration still burning inside her.
The truth was, she had never experienced warmth like that before.
And she hated how easily she had been drawn in.
Hiding in the shadows, she watched as the woman walked through the forest, humming a little tune.
Humming. In the Black Forest.
She really was insane.
Or maybe she had already lost her mind, unable to accept her fate.
Maybe that was it.
She walked on, completely unfazed by the dark elves glaring at her from the shadows.
Then—
She ran into Nishira.
Sharian’s heart clenched.
Nishira was one of the many mothers in their clan, and the one Sharian feared the most.
Even among dark elves, she was particularly cold and merciless.
Most avoided crossing her path whenever possible.
Fortunately, Nishira only scoffed at the human before moving on.
If she hadn’t been their father’s hostage…
Sharian didn’t even want to think about what might’ve happened.
Wait.
Why was she worried about that woman?
Get it together.
She followed Marian all the way to the forest’s edge.
She wasn’t trying to escape—she had to know she wouldn’t survive the traps surrounding the perimeter.
So where was she going?
Eventually, she arrived at a small clearing.
It was the only place near the Black Forest where sunlight reached, and in late spring, it bloomed with wildflowers.
A place no dark elf ever set foot in.
And yet—
Humming cheerfully, Marian walked straight into the flower field and knelt down.
What was she doing?
Sharian crept closer, staying hidden.
Then, she noticed movement from another hiding spot.
A pair of wide eyes peered out from a bush.
Zakrion.
"Why don’t you come over and help me?"
To Sharian’s shock, Marian turned and gestured toward him.
Caught.
Zakrion hesitated, then slowly crawled out.
That idiot…!
As he approached, he asked,
"What are you doing?"
"I’m making a crown."
"A crown?"
"Here."
She placed something on Zakrion’s head—a ring of woven wildflowers.
"It looks pretty, doesn’t it?"
"Flowers…"
Zakrion murmured, his long ears twitching as the flower crown drooped over his forehead.
Sharian stepped forward, ready to put a stop to this.
But then—
"Ahaha!"
Zakrion giggled.
A real, carefree laugh.
Sharian froze.
Dark elves…
Could they even laugh like that?
Should an assassin be smiling…?
Wasn’t that something they weren’t supposed to do?
And yet, as Sharian watched her younger brother laugh, she found a smile creeping onto her own lips—one she couldn’t quite suppress.
"Come here. I’ll make one for you, too."
"N-No, I…"
The human woman had spotted Sharian. She smiled and lifted her hands, but Sharian quickly shook her head, stepping back.
"Sis!"
Before she could retreat any further, Zakrion grabbed her hand, pulling her forward with a bright, carefree grin.
Sharian had no choice but to step into the sunlit flower field.
"Come on, hold still."
The woman gently placed a flower crown on Sharian’s head.
"It looks beautiful. If only we had a mirror."
"Uh… um…"
Sharian hesitantly reached up, fingers brushing against the delicate wreath resting atop her head.
What… was she supposed to do?
The radiant sunlight, so warm and golden. The wildflowers, carrying their soft, earthy fragrance.
Her brother, grinning with a crown of flowers on his head.
And the human woman, weaving Sharian’s crown with a gentle smile.
Everything around her was something she had never experienced before.
Then Marian spoke.
"Should I be your mother?"
"What…?"
"Just while you’re here. I can be your mother."
"Wh-what…?"
Ridiculous.
Absurd.
An unthinkably rude suggestion.
Did she pity her just because she had seen her cry? Did she think she could console her with cheap sympathy?
If another dark elf had said something so insulting, Sharian would have slit their throat without hesitation.
But instead of reacting, she simply looked up at Marian.
Because her smile…
Was just too warm.
[Translator - Peptobismol]
[Proofreader - Demon God] 𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙥𝒖𝒃.𝙘𝙤𝒎
