Facts had proven that [Void Zero Protection] could indeed "kill" an Old Deus under certain conditions.
And yet, the death of the Forest God was soon attributed to… well, this morning there were whispers of a certain Flügel being sighted. Soon after, the Forest God disappeared. What exactly had happened? Arthur couldn't help but feel curious.
As for whether Jibril had the ability to slay the Forest God?
Anyone with even the faintest shred of reason would dismiss such an absurd notion.
Still, it was possible a Flügel had been present, perhaps contributing in some small, incidental way, and then vanished. And the only other party who had openly approached the Forest God during this time had been the dwarves.
For Think, shifting the blame served as a perfect two-birds-with-one-stone solution.
She explained her reasoning frankly, then turned those wide, watery eyes toward Arthur, a smile playing across her lips.
It was the look of someone saying, See? I've done well. Isn't it time to reward me?
Arthur had to admit, Think was skilled. She had carried out his order just yesterday, and by this morning the Forest God lay dead. Not only that, she had already laid out a plan to deflect suspicion, turning the forest elves into pure victims.
Her efficiency and ruthlessness were enough to leave an impression.
But—
"You're still too naïve," Arthur said, shaking his head with a sigh. "If you place the blame on Jibril, what do you think will happen? Those crazy Flügel might come strolling into elven territory tomorrow and casually unleash a few [Air Strikes]. Are you prepared for war with the God of War's camp? Or do you intend to drag me into the middle of it?"
He left her no time to argue.
Pointing toward Jibril, he added, "Besides, look at her. Even now, she's practically laughing at your misfortune."
Indeed, Jibril's smile was cruel and mocking, her expression brimming with schadenfreude. Anyone with even half a brain could see she was eagerly awaiting the elves' downfall.
Think's lips tightened. She fell silent, staring at Arthur helplessly.
"Don't give me that look," Arthur continued coolly. "The strong don't need excuses to vent their anger. They need no reason to trample others. As for this one—" he flicked his hand toward Jibril, "—ignore her. Treat her as if she doesn't exist. Then the Skywings can cause as much chaos as they like; it won't touch us."
Humans, at least, were better at this than elves.
The strong rarely noticed the weak. If something—or someone—didn't exist, then there was nothing to point fingers at. Jibril's disappearance, so long as no clues surfaced, would never implicate humanity.
Think, however, still viewed elves as pieces on the grand chessboard of the world. That was why she felt compelled to react at all.
"If you want the details, ask the Flügel girl yourself," Arthur said at last, stepping aside to reveal Jibril to Think's gaze.
As he expected, the elf stiffened at the sight. There she was—the demon who had destroyed the elves' capital twenty-four years ago, now reduced to the fragile form of a little girl. Think's eyes immediately darkened with malice.
"I'm not a brat!" Jibril snapped, utterly oblivious to her appearance.
But the more stubbornly she protested in that girlish voice, the less convincing she became. The louder her defiance, the more she looked like a child begging to be bullied.
Perfect. Think's attention had been successfully diverted.
"Oh my, it seems Master hasn't disciplined her at all. Do you need my help to train her?" Think chuckled, covering her mouth.
"No, she's my slave," Arthur replied lightly. "But if you really want her, I can lend her to you as a reward."
Given Think's nature as a lewd elf, offering up Jibril was more a sacrifice than a reward. Arthur himself felt no attachment—he wouldn't even flinch at selling her off. Later, he could always file it away in the records.
As expected, Think's eyes gleamed with sudden excitement.
But soon that brightness dimmed, replaced by a steady, piercing stare directed at Arthur himself.
Arthur: "…"
Well. Lustful beings were nothing if not consistent. For the sake of the one they desired, they could even let go of centuries of hatred.
Just as Arthur resigned himself, Jibril suddenly cried out—like an angel swooping in to save him.
"The Flügel will never be slaves!"
Very good. Well done, little Flügel.
"Even if you say so, you're still a captive," Think sneered. "Flügel or not, it's a fact that you've become Master's slave."
"Gu… Just kill me," Jibril spat, her will crumbling.
Don't give up so easily!
Arthur was about to prod her further, to goad her into resisting again and keep Think distracted.
But the elf saw through him. Stepping closer, she slid an arm around his, pressing her body against him.
The soft pressure made Arthur freeze.
He exhaled heavily, resigned, then turned to face the elf who had just murdered her own creator.
"Think Nirvalen," he said solemnly, "you have indeed proven your ability and value. In my dynasty, you would be counted among the rare wise ministers. In this world, you are a rare talent. On your merits alone, I will make an exception and grant you a special reward. As agreed, state your wish."
His tone carried such majesty, such solemn grace, that Think's eyes sparkled with delight.
Merlin and Merry gaped.
A special reward?
In Britain, only three women had ever received such honor: Morgan, Manaka, and Artoria. Each instance had been tempered by Arthur's guilt toward them.
Why should this elf be granted the same?
The two half-incubi glared daggers at Think, their envy burning. Yet when their eyes shifted back to Arthur, realization struck.
Our king has finally let himself go.
A strange mix of relief and fury welled up inside them.
If only we could have been rewarded too…
But as failed sages, their only hope was to nudge Fou into action.
Go on—slip into our king's arms.
Unfortunately, Fou was still sulking and ignored their pleas.
At that moment, Think leaned in, still hugging Arthur's arm, and whispered softly into his ear.
"Any wish at all? Master, you already know what I desire, don't you?"
What else could you possibly be thinking of besides that, you shameless pervert?
Arthur's eye twitched violently. He wanted to declare outright that such things were forbidden.
If she dared to demand direct intimacy, he would refuse without hesitation.
As if I would commit myself to a mere lecher!
But the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he forced himself to say, "I told you—so long as it isn't excessive, I will grant it."
"I knew Master wouldn't break his promise," Think purred. "Then allow me to be frank. What I want is—"
-End Chapter-
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