"Hmm, it looks like you're having trouble adapting to the new environment."
Arthur rested his chin on his hand, his malicious gaze fixed on the young Jibril. "Don't be afraid. Come here, my little Flügel slave."
"Who would go there?!" Jibril shouted stubbornly. She could already feel the malice of this world pressing down on her.
Yesterday, this man had used some unknown means to block and resist her two [Air Strikes]. When her spirit power (magic) ran dry, she naturally became his prisoner.
To be honest, Jibril had still held a sliver of hope at first.
After all, judging by his bearing, he was most likely an Old Deus in disguise, which explained his strange aura. And if he truly was an Old Deus, then perhaps she had nothing to fear. The Old Gods, proud as they were, rarely paid attention to a mere Flügel. It might sound strange to put it that way, but it was the truth. In the Great War, no one but the Lord Himself was ever safe.
Even the Flügel, who considered themselves superior beings, could only be described as insignificant in the grand scheme. Compared to the Old Deus, beings countless times stronger than her race, a Flügel was beneath notice. Many of them even welcomed challenges—perhaps the only entertainment in their long, arduous lives.
So after yesterday's defeat, Jibril had expected indifference. Instead, Arthur praised her.
"Woooooo~ It's been so long since I last moved my body. What a pleasant experience!" he had said cheerfully—before neatly tying her up.
Unacceptable!
He was happy, but her two strongest spells had drained her energy completely. She was beaten without a proper fight!
Still, perhaps it was a fitting end. For the Skywinged race, armed with god-slaying weapons, death itself was nothing to fear.
She was then brought to a human settlement. It didn't really matter where; after exhausting herself with two [Air Strikes], her spirit was nearly gone. Soon, the magic sustaining her as a Flügel would vanish, and she would cease to exist.
But before that could happen, two white-haired magicians—who called themselves nightmares—used some unknown spell to stabilize her existence.
She did not collapse, nor did she regain her strength. She lingered in a half-baked state—alive, yet powerless.
Not long after, word spread through the settlement: Jibril had been captured by Arthur and turned into his special, unspeakable slave.
At that moment, her composure shattered.
Slave?! Who are you calling a slave?! Explain yourselves! There are no slaves among the Flügel!
But when she tried to protest, a cruel trick befell her. Whenever she appeared before humans, her form warped into that of a human girl. Worse, her words twisted into meaningless babble—"Woo woo woo woo woo"—in human ears.
Jibril was furious.
She wanted to slaughter every human in that village.
She still retained basic physical abilities, even if her magic was sealed. But every time she moved with violent intent, those same two white-haired nightmares appeared to intercept her.
She was under constant watch—twenty-four hours a day.
Abominable!
Shaking with rage, Jibril glared at Arthur. The proud Flügel would never surrender!
Wait. Why was he standing up? What was he planning?
Suddenly, a rumor she had overheard from the humans resurfaced in her mind.
"Don't come any closer!" she cried.
Arthur's smile widened. "So even the Flügel can make such adorable expressions. Don't worry—I'm not a good person. You don't need to be afraid."
"I'm a Flügel! I'm not afraid!"
"Wow~ You say that, but your body is clearly trembling."
"I'm angry!"
"Then I'll approach without hesitation."
"Don't come over here!"
"You are my captive, yet you have no understanding of your situation. This is unacceptable. I will help you face reality."
"No!!!"
Just as Arthur reached out his hand, Merlin and Mellie suddenly stepped forward, flanking him protectively.
"My king."
"Please be careful with it."
"There's no need," Arthur waved them off. "It's just an elf."
At that moment, the wooden door creaked open.
An elf girl, shrouded in a robe and multiple concealment spells, walked in.
"Hello, Master. Did you miss me?" Think pulled back her hood and smiled brightly.
Another suspicious one.
"I was just wondering how best to exterminate elves who failed their trial," Arthur said coldly. "And aren't you going to drop that frivolous tone? If you insist on calling me Master, then at least show some respect."
But Think only leaned in closer, ignoring his words. "So you were thinking of me, hmm? What a delightful answer! Master has such a sweet tongue."
In an instant, the room filled with murderous intent.
It was Mary's resentment as a woman.
Since the day she was born, she had accompanied Arthur—yet he had never once shown open affection. But this shameless long-eared primitive had pressed herself right against him without hesitation!
Enviable—no, outrageous!
Fou's eyes turned red.
Why Fou?
Because Arthur's arms usually belonged exclusively to her. On rare occasions, she tolerated sharing with a few golden retrievers. But now?
"Fuwu~!"
Her body spun 720 degrees before she launched a flying kick—only for Arthur to catch her by the scruff of the neck.
"Fou! Fuwu!"
"Alright, alright, little one, calm down." Arthur sighed, pushing Think away before turning back with a stern glare. "Tell me your purpose before I lose patience."
"You'll be disliked if you're too impatient… Though I do like impatient masters," Think murmured, shifting restlessly as she delivered her report. "This morning, Kainath is gone."
"What?!" Arthur's eyes widened.
"Exactly as I said. Their body destroyed, their essence extracted. By Old Deus standards, it isn't total annihilation, but biologically? They're dead. The mission you assigned—the [Void Zero Protection] experiment—was a resounding success." Think covered her face with her hands and giggled. "They trust me completely. The Flower Crown Lord, their key to victory. Such a foolish Old Deus was easy prey."
"Hiss—"
Arthur sucked in a sharp breath.
He had doubted from the beginning that the elves could truly handle the Mori God. Creature and creator—that bond couldn't be severed so easily. Surely, at least Think would hesitate, out of respect. Surely, the other elves would falter.
But no.
They had struck swiftly, mercilessly, and thoroughly.
A ruthless, terrifying, cruel, and utterly evil race.
Arthur felt everyone's gaze shift—Merlin, Merry, even the "emotionless" nightmares—all staring at Think differently now.
But Think only beamed, awaiting her reward.
-End Chapter-
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