My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World
Chapter 622

Chapter 622: An Elf’s Tale, Part 2

Eshwlyn awoke with a start, the echoing sounds of a nightmare still ringing faintly in her ears, a rare sun was pouring into her bleary eyes through the frosted glass of her bedroom window.

Clangoring metal.

Exploding rubble.

An infinite freefall.

And those deep black dying eyes, a pitch darkness staring into her soul once more. Every night, like flashing glimpses from a whirling void, Remelda’s face continued to haunt her dreams, her final words rumbling in the nothingness, turning sleep into something Eshwlyn learned to dread.

It has been two weeks since the incident in the village. Two weeks of grueling monotony, two weeks confined to bed and healing. The many injuries she sustained from the battle with Remelda compounded further by winter fatigue had pushed her body far beyond the brink and as such-collapsed, and stirred no longer.

The most she was able to recall was the look on Wilvur’s expression, panting and heaving, as he emerged outside the parish doors. He looked bewildered, and for the first time since having known him, completely speechless. But before she felt give way, before her entire world faded into black, she caught something else in his eyes, a rather harsh glint of red... as if almost disappointed.

.....

Then the next she knew, she was rousing awake, bandaged, changed, and considerably startling the new chambermaid who had shrieked herself all the way out of the room the very moment they locked eyes with one another.

Wilvur was nowhere to be seen, and more puzzlingly, neither was Tilina.

In time she learned that a new human steward had been appointed to temporarily oversee the manor during the time that she was under. A skinny old man who despite his frail stature, carried quite the elegant demeanor. In a rather impartial tone, he explained to Eshwlyn that Wilvur had left her the orders to simply stay and recuperate as best she could.

Any questions, the slightest inquiry regarding either Wilvur or Tilina’s whereabouts, the steward would simply refuse to answer, whether under strict instructions not to, or rather perhaps he did know himself, Eshwlyn could not tell... but as the billowing winter sky hurriedly breezed past the days one after the other, there was a gradual realization that that fleeting look of disappointment that she had glimpsed in those scarlet eyes was not just a figment of her imagination.

“And my sister?” Eshwlyn stumbled, struggling to rise from her bed with unsteady feet. “What of... what of her? I was told I’d be able to meet her. My reward. Do you know...? Has Master... mentioned anything to you of the sorts?”

“That is a matter solely between you and Lord Wilvur,” The steward simply said. “I suggest you address your concerns to him when he returns.”

“When does he return, then?” She asked, exasperated, unbothered to hide her audible expression. “When will I see him again?”

“Soon,” He replied, departing unceremoniously through the doorway and leaving a frustrated Eshwlyn simmering by her bedside.

In the two weeks since, Eshwlyn had made a swift recovery, but even better, the bitter cold of the season no longer affected her. Perhaps it was vexation festering internally that had bolstered the process, the impatience, the isolation, hours upon hours kept confined in the dark.

For a couple of days now she no longer needed any tending to by reluctant maids, and chose instead to spend most afternoons regaining and mobility and as well as refining her swordsmanship alone in the courtyard.

Perhaps the biggest surprise after waking up to her newfound circumstance was replaceing her sword propped up against the bedside drawer, fastened securely in its leather scabbard, and given a polish that had its silver surface gleaming brighter than ever.

When asked one evening, the steward remarked it was explicitly Wilvur’s desire that it was not to be touched by anyone but Eshwlyn, and it was hers alone to do with as she saw fit.

It seemed uncharacteristic for Wilvur to leave such a thing in her possession. Does he not worry about the things she could possibly do with it? Or was this an implicit show of trust from him? After witnessing personally the devastation brought upon by an insubordinate Elf, was that wise of him? Did no one think to object? Or perhaps he just did not care to hear them, perhaps he truly did think that she could be absolutely trusted...

And perhaps that look of disappointment really was a figment of her imagination.

Eshwlyn scampered out of bed, sword firmly in one hand, her newfound routing leading her across the barren halls, and out into the manor courtyard, striding through the freshly-laden snow to her usual haunting ground where she promptly began slicing away at the empty breeze.

It was catharsis in its purest form. When she swung her blade, it was as if she was also severing all of her frustrations and worries. How her heart pounded in her ears, overpowering the buzzing thoughts in her head. The bigger the effort, the better the release, and the greater the relief.

Time passed, and Eshwlyn kept swinging, her sweat pouring, her limbs flying. From a vertical slice to a straight thrust, backing away with a spin before charging once more with a whistling slash, her blade hit the ground, scooping snow and with a nimble turn created a lashing arc that ended with another reverberating plunge. She quickly twirled behind her, the sword spinning along and then –

A loud clang.

A sudden stop.

Surprise flickered in her eyes, a shockwave of resistance throbbing in her arm. The sun shone, setting a flutter of crimson hair ablaze, and gleaming the pristine metal of a Knight’s armor Qutely, Tilina’s golden eyes peered back at her, a raised arm effortlessly stopping the blade’s momentum, in its surface, reflecting acutely an expression of clear disapproval.

“Training without an adversary to spar against is a guaranteed way to lull yourself into a false sense of confidence,” Tilina said, her arm lowering with a muffled rustle of metal. “The air does not fight back, it does not resist you. Think, how would you improve anything without contention?”

In a second, her surprise had dissipated, and a surge of anger began to flare. Eshwlyn felt her jaw clamping, her brows twitching. “You dare reprimand me of this when it was you yourself that had deliberately chosen to leave me in this state?”

Tilina dully blink at her. “You were given orders to recuperate.”

“And I have,” Eshwlyn heaved, slamming hard the hilt of her sword into its holster. “As you can see for yourself, I have done as asked, I am more than well... and I have had enough being left alone without answers! I was told I was to be reunited with Lenora, and yet-nothing! Where is he? Where is Wilv... Where is Master?! If you’ve returned, then surely he has too!”

“He is not here.”

“What?”

“And even if he has indeed returned now, Master would be far too preoccupied at the given moment to be pestered with your little trifles.”

“Preoccupied?” She snorted, a cloud of white air expelling like smoke from an open flame. “Please enlighten me how so. To not leave me with even a single message, a single word-that is all I ask! A few sparse seconds of his time, can he truly not spare just that?!”

“Eshwlyn, you are not entitled to your Master’s attention. He is not obliged to adapt to your convenience,” Tilina replied, her voice rising in warning. “And sincerely, if you must know, he is currently still dealing with the aftermath of your little expedition from before.”

A growl from sealed lips was Eshwlyn could muster to that, maintaining a glare that seemed permanently frozen on her face.

“Master has personally seen to the retrieval of every body in the massacre as well as offering his condolences to any and all surviving members of the victims in person. To the House of Hendrick, human life is sacred above all else. Needless to say, he is devastated to have played a hand in this great loss. To add to his grief, His Majesty, King Ardvair is too quite unhappy with him... but for completely unrelated reasons.”

That broke her stiff silence. “What reasons?”

“Mostly, the way he had handled the situation,” then with her voice gaining a sudden edge, added, “Or how you handled the situation to be more precise...”

There was an accusatory tone to her words that Eshwlyn did not appreciate.

“How do you mean?” She asked in a low mutter. “I’ve protected my Master, I have fought risking life and limb to save him. I did no wrong.”

“You killed Remelda,” Tilina answered. “And as result, sullied your Master’s great and precarious reputation.”

Once again, in her mind, a flash of bitter scarlet eyes.

“She was trying to kill us!” Eshwlyn bellowed. “Had you seen her-you would have done the same!”

“Master has expressed every desire to spare her life, surely yes? Do you recall him ever vocalizing his intent to kill her? Has he ordered you even once to do so? No, of course not,” She answered herself. “And there is a very good reason for it.”

“It was either her or I,” Eshwlyn continued to defend herself. “Are you suggesting I let her kill me? Or to let my Master be slain, when I have the chance to prevent it?”

“If you were more than what he presumed capable, you’d be able to subdue her,” Tilina shook her head reprovingly. “An Elf-Knight loose and free is already a grave and rare circumstance. The prospect of your devoted servant spontaneously betraying you is a terrifying thought. But surely even then, even if wild and frenetic, if their loyalty were to waver, there must be a way they can be controlled once again. It was this single assurance that placated many of these concerns should a Knight’s devotion falter.”

And then Tilina looked again into Eshwlyn’s eyes, her stare of gold growing suddenly cold. “And it was you that ultimately proved this assurance wrong. That they cannot be controlled. That should a Knight turn, they must be slain. For if even the Collector Wilvur himself cannot contain his own Knights that he has cultivated, what hope then does anyone else have?”

“Then perhaps they should just treat us with more respect!” Eshwlyn suggested, taking a step forward in defiance, recalling Remelda’s words.

“Respect...” Tilina almost let out a disbelief chuckle, shaking her head once more. “Tell me then, Eshwlyn, if our races’ positions were switched... would you have shown them any?”

Silence for a second as Eshwlyn searched for an answer. Then the silence persisted, lingered... staying as her answer.

“What regard does a mountain have to the existence of a mere pebble?” She asked. “A carnivore to its prey? The soaring trees to the slightest sway of grass beneath it?”

Eshwlyn said nothing. The answer was nothing.

“I have been traveling with Master all this while to pacify concerns, to stand before His Majesty, and swear to the names of the Divines that nothing of this sort would ever happen again...” then blowing with a weary sigh, and walking past Eshwlyn’s side, Tilinda said, “And had he only chosen me that day to join him instead, then surely it never would have...”

For nothing, then? Eshwlyn asked herself. All her training, all her studying, the trials and tribulations she had undergone wasted away in a single skirmish. The one chance to prove her worth, to finally see her sister... Lenora... slipping... gone...

“Come, Eshwlyn,” Tilina suddenly beckoned her from a distance afar. “You will follow me now. There is a carriage waiting for us in the front, let us not squander.”

Splashing snow and Eshwlyn had twisted right around, standing in place, bemused. “A carriage, whatever for?”

“As I’ve mentioned before, Master is currently preoccupied, and so he had sent me in his stead,” Tilina said. “As I recall, he has promised you a reward, did he not?”

“What?” Eshwlyn blinked, involuntarily taking a step backward, recoiling from what she had heard. “I’m...? He still believes me deserving of it? Despite...? Even after everything you just said?”

“Apparently so.”

“But why?”

“Who knows, truly?” Tilina threw an arm up in a motion of clear exasperation, “But I suggest you do not waste his generosity, as bewildering as it may be,” before shuffling away again, calling out to her in almost gentle, empathetic tone. “Now hurry, it’s time for you to go meet your sister again.”