Chapter 20: Rescue of the Elf Frostleaf
Inside the room.
The cage was rusty, green flames twisted and danced, and a gargoyle squatted on the wall, covered in moss, coldly staring at the elf inside the cage.
Eve Frostleaf was trapped in the cage, her emerald eyes reflecting a distant, proud indifference.
The bald vampire responsible for watching her loathed her gaze, as if he were a dead monkey toying with trivial dark magic.
The thick stone walls could not block the spells echoing from the castle courtyard.
Necromancers were “singing,” and living sacrifices were dying.
The bald vampire approached, glancing at her eyes, but the high elf didn’t even regard him with a look.
He said, “You’ve failed to escape for the third time.”
Eve Frostleaf completely ignored him. Standing in this decayed, ancient cell, she appeared out of place. Immaculate and composed, she looked as if she were in the court of the Eternal Queen.
She didn’t resemble a prisoner who had failed to escape three times.
Out of respect for her status and power, the vampires did not imprison Eve Frostleaf in the dungeon. They even provided her with the best bed, intricately carved chairs, and various embellishments befitting her nobility.
However, she never sat on the red velvet cushion.
She preferred to stand, always standing, even when sleeping.
It seemed the furniture provided by the vampires was too inferior; this pampered illegitimate daughter of an elf queen was unwilling to lower herself even a little, choosing instead to stand.
The bald vampire found her detestable, but this time he was confident he could shatter this iceberg of a woman.
“Don’t think about escaping. Soon, it will be your turn on the altar.”
Eve Frostleaf remained indifferent, even in a life-and-death situation, her eyes did not even flicker.
“And no one is coming to save you,” the bald vampire continued. “You have no father or mother, just an orphan.”
Though Eve Frostleaf’s expression did not change, the bald vampire sensed a tinge of mockery in her gaze, a derision toward the ignorant.
But that was exactly what he wanted.
“Your biological mother has already accepted you as a sacrifice against the army of destruction because she has your sister, a legitimate elf princess.”
Eve Frostleaf’s white eyelashes quivered slightly.
“Your father has already silently accepted the fact that you are dead over the past six months.”
The bald vampire said, “And your brave companions are missing, probably off chasing after his succubus fiancée, something he has publicly declared multiple times.”
Eve Frostleaf’s white eyelashes trembled again.
“I know you don’t believe what I’m saying,” the bald vampire revealed his intentions. “But there is one thing you have to believe, even if you dare not accept it—your uncle handed you over to us.”
The temperature in the air dropped significantly, and a layer of frost formed on the wet skin of the gargoyle.
“You should have sensed it in some way,” the bald vampire said. “During a normal retreat, clearly you weren’t assigned any difficult rear-guard tasks; why did you fall into our hands?
“How many great mages in this world can use subspace to forcibly teleport someone over a thousand miles?
“And which of those mages has close ties to you?”
Eve Frostleaf’s eyes finally moved; she looked at the bald vampire and spoke in elvish, “The corpse is lying.”
“Originally, Taige didn’t want to cooperate with us,” he replied fluently in elvish. “But upon seeing the army of destruction, he changed his mind. He has participated in three wars against destruction, obviously this time isn’t just an ordinary calamity.
“And you, as the heir of the bloodline of the first elf king Ainario, your bloodline happens to be able to revive the most powerful necromancer in history, Naga, who created us.
“Of course, this also involves your high elf’s characteristic plots and schemes. The curse on the Ainario bloodline will also affect Naga. He must be thinking it provides a weakness for future allies.
“And it’s just right that you are an orphan; how can you be more important than a legitimate elf princess in the eyes of your biological parents?”
Eve Frostleaf did not respond. She struggled in her heart to find a flaw to refute his claims.
But based on both her way of thinking and past experiences, she arrived at one conclusion: what the vampire before her said was true.
Eve Frostleaf shifted her gaze away from him, showing no reaction, as if the earlier conversation had never happened.
The bald vampire turned and left, closing the magically affixed door behind him, and the room once again became an impenetrable cage. Unless the master of trickery personally granted a blessing, no one could cross space, enter, and take her away.
After the door closed and the dust suspended in the air slowly settled,
Eve Frostleaf turned her head, her face parallel to the ground, and a few tears fell from her eyes, shattering on the tiled floor.
Looking at the damp stone tiles, Eve Frostleaf wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t.
She stood quietly, listening to the faint singing coming from outside the wall. She thought about how she would die all alone surrounded by these chants. Dying on this lifeless land, dying in a foreign country.
Not sacrificing in battle, nor dedicating herself to a great cause. Just as a child no one wanted, dying here.
The door opened, and a greenish female demon held a candle, announcing the opening of the grave:
“It’s your turn.”
The bald vampire followed behind, holding a set of handcuffs.
Eve Frostleaf stood motionless, like a corpse, allowing the demon to lock the handcuffs around her hands; her emerald eyes lost their vitality, resembling the stone gargoyles on the wall.
The bald vampire was pleased with her response. Seeing the damp floor tiles, the corners of his mouth lifted into a satisfied smile.
He pulled the handcuffs and said, “Let’s go.”
Eve Frostleaf moved for the first time, stepping out from the dim, moldy castle into the blood-soaked courtyard.
Necromancers, wearing yellowed skulls as half-faces masks, in black robes, surrounded various corpses; armored skeletons were dragging the bodies away.
The bald vampire said, “Your Excellency the Elector, the sacrifice has arrived.”
An elegant vampire, with gray hair and dressed in old-fashioned imperial noble attire, took his wife’s hand, who was holding a cup of blood.
It was strange; a vampire was referred to as “the Elector.”
The elector vampire politely bowed slightly to Eve Frostleaf and said, “My esteemed guest, I hope you have been comfortable during your time in my humble abode.”
Eve Frostleaf stared numbly at the altar, voiceless.
The elector vampire did not mind. He slightly bent forward, gesturing for her to proceed: “Please step up. I have arranged for a skilled executioner, hoping to satisfy you.”
A specter wielding a scythe floated atop the altar, waiting for her.
Eve Frostleaf nodded, stepping through the thick blood, walking step by step to the scythe of the specter, tilting her head back, exposing her swan-like neck, closing her eyes amidst the chanting.
She felt drowsy, unaware of where the fatigue had come from.
Well, dying in sleep is far more merciful than dying while awake.
“Dong~~~”
The death knell tolled, first once, then twice, then thrice…
The specter executioner raised the deadly scythe high.
A strange sound echoed.
It was the clash of blades and a familiar yet unfamiliar voice.
“The flower has its day of blooming again, but youth never returns.” Laughter rang out: “Don’t chop, don’t chop.”
Eve Frostleaf suddenly opened her eyes, awakening.
She saw a mature succubus, with a face strikingly similar to Qima, grinning as she blocked the scythe of the specter executioner with her axe-gun. At her feet lay a strand of severed black hair; she had received a scythe blow when she first appeared, but it was not severe.
“Q… Qima?”
“Long time no see, dear Frostleaf.” Qima’s gaze was filled with enthusiasm as she scanned her body from top to bottom: “It’s a pity we can’t hug right now.”
The axe-gun in her hand had penetrated the specter executioner’s chest.
The blood-red axe-gun roared and howled:
“No blood! No blood! Not a drop of blood! Ahhhhh!”
Probably due to the volume being too loud, the executioner’s spirit was blown away.
The necromancers seized this brief moment of pause to halt the ceremony, so as not to be disturbed by this uninvited guest.
Meanwhile, the three vampires present had drawn their blades, readying for combat, while all the undead guards formed layers surrounding the altar.
Qima broke the handcuffs from Eve Frostleaf’s hands, turning her back to her, giving her a hard shove against Eve’s backside, relishing the soft feel. A raging inferno ignited within Qima; these past few days had been overly tiresome.
“Who are you, demon?” the elector vampire demanded. “Daring to interrupt my ritual?”
“I am Qima, here to rescue my sister.” Qima contemplated whether to take the opportunity to increase Frostleaf’s favor, adding shamefully: “…and also my lover.”
“A succubus lover… It’s no surprise about the elves. Do you think you can break through the encirclement?” The elector vampire maintained his politeness. “If you choose to leave, I will arrange for your departure, allowing you to take your lover’s belongings with you.”
“Not sure.” Qima replied. “After all, you should be from the Von Karinstain family, instigators of the first vampire war; there are too many surrounding minions, so escaping alone is quite difficult, but I won’t give up.”
“Qima.” Eve Frostleaf elbowed her side gently: “You should leave.”
“Don’t worry about me, the traitor.” Qima said. “I’m tough; George can’t even kill me.”
“I hope you can personally deliver my last words to my nominal parents,” Eve Frostleaf said. “Otherwise, I won’t rest in peace after my death.”
The death bell tolled once more.
Qima could sense from her tone the intense desire for death.
“Frostleaf,” Qima said, “but to me, you are unique. I don’t want you to die.” She deliberately omitted mention of George.
“I’ve made my decision; Qima, I must apologize later.”
Qima abandoned the plan to withhold George’s identity and said, “George is here too, here to save you.”
Eve Frostleaf’s voice trembled slightly: “George… George?”
“Yes, we planned to come together.” Qima assured her. “Just hold on for a few seconds, and you will see him.”
The elector vampire decisively ordered, “Attack.”
At the same time, Qima’s rhythmically chanting voice echoed: “Now please welcome, the extraordinary master of Aionia, the world’s number one dog-headed…”
