I threateningly tighten my palm grabbing his throat, and with a low whisper, I bring my sword to Garus's skull closer. "Where is your father?"
"I… won't tell…" Garus as righteous as he is remains stubborn.
"Tsk," I have my complaints, but I cannot fault this young man. "Then stay."
I let go of his throat. Instead, I grab his wrist and place his palm over the wall. "Grit your teeth. This will hurt." With my superior strength and the steel sword, I nail my weapon to his palm to the wall pinning Garus in place.
The pain causes Garus to wince and cry from the pain. In his silent whimper, he lets go of his own sword and grabs his hurting hand. He tries to remove my sword, but his attempt is useless as the pain gets in his way. The slightest vibration is enough to make him curl from the pain.
I playfully pat the hilt of the sword pinning his hand, causing the sword to sway and bounce left and right. I earn another painful cry from Garus. "Where is your father?"
"I. I… won't tell." He tells me resolutely. Such a filial young man.
I drag my long white hair, and with a string from my pouch, I tie my hair into a ponytail. "What do you think of elves, young man?" I ask Garus with a casual tone. I observe him carefully, and I find a surprise in his eyes.
However.
There is more. I cannot help but think that Garus is… in denial. "No, this cannot be… You cannot be here…" And just by his words alone, I realize the peculiarity his gaze possesses. His eyes are trembling with guilt and remorse.
"What is it?" I dangerously ask him. Why can I not be here?
Garus taking a deep breath finally tells me what I want to know. "Father is in the Roswell Mansion, just east of this manor. It isn't so far from here… He is entertaining some guests…"
"What do you mean guests?"
"He invited all of the aristocrats in the Fendra Province with notable pedigree. He plans to unify the whole province to rise up to his majesty, King Mareichi Hans Beyronald…"
From all of the aristocrats of Fendra Province? The scheme of wanting to rise against the Beyronald King, a coup de ta, doesn't even catch my slightest attention. The fact that almost every important aristocrat of Fendra Province is here changes things, however.
I am so damn fucking lucky.
With a manic smile, I grab Garus's sword that is lying on the ground. It has an exquisite design and is of good steel. This sword is obviously much better than the one I wield. "I will be borrowing it." I bid farewell to Garus.
At this point, the other elves must already be catching up to me.
I don't know how the Count's army will react. But that doesn't concern me. With lithe steps, I rush to the Roswell Mansion. The clock is ticking, and despite it only being less than an hour, I dare not delay.
…
Mareichi Hans Beyronald is a young King, and with his abilities beyond his age, he is able to stabilize his rule without any hiccups. Excepting the resisting forces of the aristocracy in his territory, he is quite an excellent and talented King.
That is why he knows why he cannot half-ass his march to the Fendra Province. Crossing over several provinces' borders with his royal name and bringing a contingent of a hundred cavalry soldiers, he makes haste to see what is happening to Fendra.
His trusted friend, Baron Kimal's letter is concerning, but he has confidence in his friend's abilities. Still, it worries him that he might find himself in a trap. Though an army of five thousand strong troops is chasing just behind him, Mareichi is having ill-forbidding thoughts that something wrong ought to go on.
…
In the luxurious Roswell Mansion, Galen just finishes his speech from the balcony. He raises his glass of wine for a toast. "To the prosperity of the Kingdom." He announces, and so the aristocrats representing various families echo.
No longer is the mansion decadent. Every aristocrat present possesses noble bearing removing them of any corruption. A person might think of their aloof status and bearing as so noble they cannot find fault in them.
Duke Yornas sits beside him with a glass full of wine. He reciprocates the toast by echoing his words and raising his glass. "Count Galen. I hope you wouldn't forget this little Duke once you ascend the throne…"
"Let's not count our chickens, before the eggs hatch… We should be careful, Duke Yornas…" Count Galen warily say to the Duke aware of the sudden movements in his territory. Is the King aware of his schemes? Galen is getting paranoid lately, and his nightmares are certainly to blame.
Suddenly, one of Duke Yornas's attendants comes to the duke and whispers something to his ear. Duke Yornas blanches at the news.
This piques Galen's curiosity. "What is it?"
With dread, Duke Yornas answers Galen. "His majesty, Mareichi Hans Beyronald has just crossed the Fendra Province and is suspected to be marching to your territory…"
Galen frowns at the unexpected news. "Duke Yornas, I ask that you delay him while we gather our armies. This may be our only opportunity."
Count Galen's words stump Yornas, but he realizes that the Count has a point. "You want to attack the King?" Bold, but reasonable. That is how strong a united Fendra province is. With a cruel smile, Yornas stands from his seat, and is about to leave… when suddenly… a steel sword finds its mark on his throat causally beheading the old duke.
Grabbing the head before it falls is a slender hand.
Cold chill sends itself to Galen's spine at the abruptness. He traces the slender hand to a beautiful face, ash gray hair, and long elf ears. Galen's heart almost stops at the sight of this intruder.
…
"Sneaking has not been my strong point, but for a first try, I did excellently… Don't you think I deserve some praise, Count Galen?" I playfully tease Galen while I casually throw a high-ranking noble's head below where most of the aristocrats gather.
Climbing down from the window is not so hard for me with my current specs. I am not really sure as to how to create a flashy entrance, but by the fearful gasp of the nobles below, I think I am doing just mighty fine.
I grab a Molotov by my waist. I had two in mine, and I believe this is the best place where I can use this. I burn the sticking-out cloth via the idle scented lamp, and with a powerful throw, I unleash the Molotov into a parabola. It beautifully lands at the closed gate of the mansion. I do the same to the second Molotov, but instead of the gate, I aim it at the roof where most wooden structures scatter.
"Why do you have that sword?" Count Galen angrily looks at me.
"Guess," I tease him. "Count Galen, I have come to administer you with divine punishment! Watch as I burn your ambition to the ground and leave nothing for you."
"Then come!" Galen draws his steel and aims to cut me down. "Fight me!" I ignore his provocation as I tilt my head backward barely dodging his sword.
"Ooh, scary." I nastily smile at him as I drop down from the balcony, and with powerful steps, I throw myself at the panicking aristocrats with glee.
I madly bring my sword to them cutting them one by one. Blood flows and drenches my boots redder than it was before. My explosive speed and strength showcase themselves as I slaughter anyone who dares bar my path.
"He is just one elf! Surround him!" Count Galen who is watching from above shouts to the aristocrats.
At his words, I become more ferocious in my attacks. I ignore the crunching and breaking of my bones. I feel my internal organs failing me as the stress of the Godly Berserker Potion slowly accumulates in my body.
I don't let them surround me. The longer I maintain my mobility, the more noble lords die on my blade. So is this what it feels like to be a one-man army, huh? I am imagining it to be so glorious, and so fun it will make you feel high.
But no.
I feel like shit. My insides are literally suffering from boiling blood.
Despite that, I push myself forward. I stab, slash, and parry. I take care not a single attack reaches me. I warily eye the famed hero of Fendra Province. As the flames grow, the more panicked the nobles become.
I am so lucky.
As I had a past life before this life, and as I am able to reincarnate to this world, I come to realize the meaning of death. I recall my pathetic self in the old world… that shut-in neet… that pathetic trash…
I am so lucky I am able to have this second life.
With blood leaking from my mouth, I declare in mad ecstasy. "I am the Elf King! I am Arthram Fae Zorun! And I come here with a glorious purpose!"
What this glorious purpose is… only the future historians might only be able to tell.