"I am ready," she said, her crying unbroken. "And I want revenge."
After that, the group continued to march west and finally reached the border.
It was the Wall of Great Calibr, built from north to south—about a thousand kilometers (621 miles) across the empire's western border—over hundreds of years of history.
It stood fifteen meters tall (about 50 feet).
It protected the empire from thousands of demonic beast attacks every year and served as the shield of the western side.
Kael jumped from the horse and extended his hands to help Kyra after reaching the post at the wall.
A soldier took the horse after Kyra landed softly on the ground between Kael's hands.
Galven looked at the cute girl that their young master was flirting with.
Young Master knows how to enjoy life.
Not even a week had passed since the princess left, and the young master had already found himself a cute girl to spend time with in this hellhole.
I must be stuck with these men who smell like shit for the time being while he enjoys himself.
Kael and Kyra went up to the top of the wall, where they could peek into the demon lands.
The moment they reached the top, both of them saw some demonic beasts marching toward the wall at high speed.
But before these beasts could come closer, the sound of magic cannons echoed nearby.
The wall was filled with magic cannons that worked on magic stones.
The moment the demonic beasts were killed, some soldiers ran toward them to collect their magic stones, the wall was like a self-sustaining machine—saving the Ravenor family from spending a large sum to import magic stones.
Kael observed the battlefield calmly as explosions echoed across the demon lands.
The magic cannons fired one after another, beams of condensed mana tearing through the approaching demonic beasts.
Their bodies shattered, scattering blood, flesh, and broken mana cores across the ground.
"So this is the western border," Kael muttered.
Kyra stood beside him, gripping the edge of the wall with both hands. Her ears twitched slightly as each explosion shook the stone beneath their feet.
Fear flickered in her eyes but beneath it burned something stronger.
Hatred.
"These beasts come every day?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," Galven answered before Kael could speak. "Sometimes dozens. Sometimes hundreds. And sometimes…" He paused, eyes narrowing as he looked toward the distant horizon. "Thousands at the same time."
________
In Ravenhold
Today, the elves had come to Ravenhold once more to reclaim their kind from humans who had stopped them from being sold inward at the empire.
Inside the guest room, a woman sat beside her husband, her posture perfect, her gaze calm—but the air around her hummed with quiet authority as she spoke with the visiting elves.
"Duchess Selara, Duke Darian," said the elf count, his voice low, "thank you for granting us this audience. But I fail to understand… why was this necessary?"
Every time he had come here, he had freed his people from chains with the aid of humans, escorting them home safely under his protection.
Yet this time, Selara had asked for a meeting. Something had changed.
His name was Azrion, an elf count tasked with bringing elves who were captured from their unprotected villages.
He hated humans, but to take his kind back, he wore a mask in this land, as they were the ones stopping elf slavery for free.
" There is indeed something important to discuss," Selara spoke the folds of her elegant white-and-purple gown shifting like liquid silk.
Her fan, red as fresh blood, opened slowly in her hand. Jewels on her neck and wrists glinted as she spoke, her voice soft but sharp as a blade at the same time.
"To be frank… it has become increasingly difficult to keep the demonic beasts at bay along the border.
Our coffers are running dry. So…" She smiled behind the fan, a cruel, delicate smile. "…we were thinking of selling the captured elves ourselves."
Azrion's fingers tightened slowly, the veins on the back of his hand surfacing beneath pale skin.
For a moment, the room fell silent.
The elf count stared at Selara, his emerald eyes sharpening like drawn blades. The polite mask he always wore in human lands cracked, just a little.
"…Sell them?" he asked quietly.
Duke Darian leaned back in his chair, his expression calm, almost bored. "Do not misunderstand, Count Azrion. This is not betrayal. The western border bleeds gold every day. Magic cannons, soldiers, repairs—nothing is free."
Azrion rose from his seat.
The wooden chair screeched loudly against the floor, making the guards at the door stiffen.
"You dare," he said, voice low and cold, "to speak of my people as livestock?"
Selara closed her fan with a soft snap and stood as well, her smile never fading. "Careful with your words, Count. You stand in Ravenhold."
Azrion laughed—a sharp, humorless sound.
"Ravenhold," he repeated. "A place that claims to protect the weak, yet now sharpens chains behind closed doors."
His gaze shifted to Darian. "You are stopping elf slavery at the border not out of mercy, but because now it benefits you."
Darian did not deny it.
"Everything change," the duke said. "So do morals."
Magic stirred in the air.
A faint green glow crept along Azrion's fingertips, the temperature in the room dropping slightly. The human guards took a half-step back, hands tightening around their weapons.
"If even one elf is sold," Azrion said, each word heavy with threat, "the forest courts will hear of it. And when they do—"
Selara interrupted him softly.
"—they will do nothing."
Azrion froze.
Selara stepped closer, her heels clicking against marble. "Your forests are busy defending their own borders. Your king argue, your nobles scheme. You came to us because you had no other choice."
She opened her fan again, hiding her smile. "Just as we do now."
For the first time since entering Ravenhold, Azrion felt it. There was definitely something between the elves and the Ravenors.
"Please… tell me the truth. Why this change?" Azrion said, sitting back in his chair, voice calm but sharp.
Selara's eyes flicked at him from behind her fan. She didn't answer. Instead, she gave a small nod to the guards.
Two of them stepped forward, carrying a large, dark box. They set it carefully on the floor between them. The metal hinges made a faint click as the box settled.
Inside were frozen body parts, clearly elf. Limbs, hands, and a head, perfectly preserved in ice.
Pale skin, green hair fanning slightly in the ice, and grey eyes staring lifelessly ahead.
Nocthyr… he thought, heart sinking.
Selara's fan shifted slightly, hiding her lips. "We received your gift," she said, her voice almost playful.
"This is just our response," she said
"Please deliver it to Princess Nyssara," she said, her eyes filled with murderous intent.
" And forget about the elf slaves from now on" she added.
Princess… I think you've made a mistake this time, Azrion thought as he studied the box.