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150 Remonde’s Choice

In short, it would end in a never-ending game of trying to outguess each other. Less a battle of wits, more a game of luck at this point.

「That probably won’t be an issue.」

「Why not?」

「Because the plan to use Altora in your assassination came from your master himself.」

With that preface—’this is something your master told me’—Remonde began his explanation.

「Marge, you apparently have a tendency, for better or worse, to overestimate the intelligence of others. On top of that, you’ve got a mountain of unbeatable skills. Someone like you, who acts with extreme caution on top of being extremely powerful, is no easy mark.」

「And what does that have to do with using Altora?」

「Because Altora is the only enemy you assess accurately. I’ve heard you two go way back—ever since the founding of the Divine Silver Sword. Whatever your feelings are now, the fact remains you survived six years in a kill-or-be-killed world together.」

「So the gap appears because we know each other too well.」

「Exactly. The fact is, even though you suspected Altora, you let him into your room and accepted a drink from him. You knew he didn’t have the power to kill you outright. That moment of carelessness, born only because it was Altora, was supposed to be your downfall. One sip of that drink, and you’d have been on a fast track to the afterlife.」

「But it didn’t happen.」

「Yeah. Who would’ve thought Altora was that useless. What kind of tavern waiter can’t even get a guy to drink? Doesn’t bode well for ‘Fancy Mina,’ that’s for sure.」

—No, I was about to drink it.

Had the wine been handed to me by Remonde herself, I wouldn’t have touched it, even with my resistance to poisons. But because it was Altora, I let my guard down—just a little.

If he had waited just one more breath. If he had stayed still for that single heartbeat, I’d be dead now.

But he didn’t. Altora struck me with the bottle instead, knocking the cup from my hand and walking away with the parting words: ‘I’m not gonna lose to you’. That outcome, to him, wasn’t a ‘win’.

「…Yeah. I couldn’t read that move either.」

「Exactly. And if you couldn’t, neither could someone who thinks the same way.」

If I couldn’t predict Altora’s actions, then surely neither could my master.

Which meant that me surviving and capturing Remonde like this had to be outside his calculations. I understood the logic—but could things really go that smoothly?

「I doubt I’m on par with my master though…」

「And that’s the problem. Because you keep thinking ‘what if the enemy is smarter than me,’ you stay cautious. Which is good—until it isn’t. Overthinking’s just another kind of stupidity.」

I couldn’t argue with that. But before I could speak, Koe-san cut in.

「Remonde-sama. Don’t you think you’re speaking a bit too freely?」

「Oops, looks like you’re scarier than Marge. Anyway, having spoken with both, my read is that Marge and his master are pretty much even now. If their thinking ability is matched, then the difference comes down to—」

「Information.」

「Exactly. You know what’s going on right now. He doesn’t.」

That’s the opening.

A path to saving the Elves and Fathi lies there.

「Marge. You’re the Skill Lender, right?」

「That’s right.」

「Lend us some skills, then. The going rate is ten percent interest, yeah?」

「Why does this guy talk like she’s holding all the cards while chained up?」

「Coming from someone who’s been in the loan biz too, the only thing that matters when choosing a client is ‘Will they pay it back?’ Everything else is secondary.」

「Can’t argue, considering Gelli’s Papa borrowed with no intention of paying it back.」

「Sounds like your old man was quite the piece of work.」

「Gelli won’t deny it.」

Somewhere nearby, I thought I heard a gold chain rattle in protest, but I ignored it to stay on track.

「I won’t waste time asking what you plan to use it for. What I need is collateral. A guarantee that I’ll get it back.」

「Collateral’s important. I get it.」

「Remonde, if you were faced with a situation where you could save your people at the cost of your life, what would you do?」

「I’d run.」

「Run? You’d abandon your people?」

That was certainly a retreat, at least on the surface.

But Remonde didn’t show a hint of shame. She met my eyes—so unlike how she’d behaved before—and said clearly:

「Yeah, I’d run. We Elves aren’t like the Werewolves or the Dwarves. We don’t buy into that cheap heroism of ‘I’ll lay down my life to save my kin!’ Nor do we cling to prideful sentiment like ‘I’ll fight to the death before I let anyone chain me up!’」

「So you’d flee, plain and simple.」

「Strong or weak, a fight always carries the risk of death. And once you’re dead, it’s over. Better to run. That’s just common sense.」

「Hard to decide if that’s pragmatic or pitiful.」

Come to think of it, we’d only fought the Elves directly twice. Both were ambushes by the same assassin.

Otherwise, they’d used proxies—Altora, monsters—never exposing themselves.

「So that’s why the assassin used potions…」

「We handpick our agents, give them drugs and skills, then delete their personality. Erase our presence and ideals. That’s what it takes to turn one of us into a ‘warrior.’ That’s the Elves for you.」

A hundred years ago, when war broke out between humans and demi-humans, the forest-dwelling races each acted in accordance with their values.

The Werewolves hid their women and children in the mountains, faced the enemy head-on, and died fighting.

The Dwarves resisted to the bitter end, losing their minds and becoming slaves.

And the Elves? They fled. Without a fight, they ran.

「Every one of us fled with the conviction: ‘No matter what, we will survive.’ We hid. We vanished. Deeper and deeper into the forest.」

「And if they keep chasing you?」

「Then we lure them into the damp, dark holes deep in the woods… and kill them. With poison. With arrows. With traps, disease, snakes, bugs—whatever works. And as they die in the dark, they’ll regret ever hunting the Elves. Every last one of them.」

Her tone was calm, but unyielding.

「We don’t let the enemy take our lives so easily. That is our pride—no, our stubbornness.」

Shizuku often spoke of the pride of the Werewolves. Azula and the Dwarves never talked like that, but they had their own way of life they wouldn’t compromise. For the Elves, that resolve took the form of ‘stubbornness’.

「We live. And for that, we want the skills to escape.」

「That’s all you want—escape skills?」

「Yeah. We’ll run, and run, and run, and keep running, on and on…」

Run. Keep running. Forever, if needed. All the while, building up poison.

And at the end of that road—

「We’ll bring every kind of pain a body can feel upon those who thought they’d cornered us. Fathie may just be a temporary home, but it’s still our forest. We’ll make them regret setting fire to it and chasing us out. They will regret it.」

「So that’s how the Elves are.」

They say life is a battle. Dying in a fair fight is often celebrated as noble.

But death is final. That’s an undeniable truth.

As living beings born into this world, the desire to live out one’s life is the most primal instinct. The will to reject those who threaten that is equally pure.

In that will to survive—unflinching, natural, unpretentious—there was something like a quiet forest untouched by man.

「So, about that collateral. I’m afraid I can’t offer my life.」

「Didn’t think you would. I don’t want it anyway.」

The collateral I sought was the opposite.

The resolve to stay alive no matter what—and the means to do so.

No matter how powerful the skill I lend, it means nothing if the borrower doesn’t have the grit to crawl through the dirt and live. And if they can’t even make use of skill and resolve together, it’s wasted.

What I need is both: the will to live, and the baseline strength to survive with my skill.

Remonde seemed to understand. She pressed her thumb to her chest, to her heart.

「The soul of the Elves—Endemic Skill: [Unfading Fear]. I’ll survive, escape, and hand it over when you come to collect. On that condition, lend me all you’ve got.」