"That is…"
Hayna recalled the small dagger.
To alleviate the headache brought on by cognitive disarray, she said everything she could.
After listening to her story, Aiwass raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curved up slightly.
Like a fox that had caught a chicken, he revealed a smug and ambiguous smile of delight.
Sherlock too, detected the loopholes in the story immediately.
"Heh…"
Sherlock scoffed, crossing his fingers and leaning back, "You really are slow, Hayna."
"…What?"
"You said it yourself, that beautiful dagger is engraved with the curving Elvish Language,"
Sherlock inquired, "Was it a gift from your father?"
"Yes, he told me to keep it for self-defense,"
Hayna answered.
As she uttered these words, she suddenly realized something, "You mean…"
Sherlock cut her off directly, "Your father is a dwarf craftsman.
