In the dimly lit study, the Elf professor Shillin suddenly stood, his chair scraping against the floor. The crimson moonlight glinted off his hair, illuminating the shock etched across half his face.
"You… how are you…?"
"Maybe just to see that expression on your face," Ash said, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"'Ash Heath, who had never studied swordsmanship, miraculously defeated an arrogant Elf swordsman in battle. After escaping prison, he sought revenge on those who betrayed him, embarking on an extraordinary journey of vengeance and triumph.' How's that for a script?"
"Oh, and don't move," he added casually. "My fingers have a tendency to tremble."
Shillin stiffened as he felt a sharp chill against his neck, followed by the warmth of blood trickling down his collar.
"Don't look down," Ash advised with exaggerated concern, his hand steady as the conjured sword of Heart's Edge hovered against the Elf's throat. "Your head might roll right off."
With his free hand, Ash drew a long sword from under his tongue and planted its tip against the floor, ready to activate the Blade Barrier miracle at a moment's notice.
Shillin's eyes flicked downward briefly. "Heart's Edge… Valcas's sword spirit, isn't it? That makes sense now. Valcas was never a careless Elf. If he intended to kill, there's no way it would end in a mere 'close call.' More likely, he was showing off. He always had a flair for dramatics."
Ash froze for a split second. "...He liked showing off?"
"Yes," Shillin replied with a distant look, as if recounting an old memory. "He used to balance on one finger during duels or deliberately let opponents score points just to stage a dramatic comeback. In school, he'd ace every test, each time scoring exactly one point higher than the last. That boy adored the spotlight. Everything he did was a challenge to himself—a performance for everyone else."
The memories seemed to soften Shillin's sharp gaze, but his tone remained neutral.
"He was always a proud and mischievous child."
Ash's pupils contracted slightly. "What exactly… was your relationship with Valcas?"
Shillin tilted his head slightly, letting the blade against his throat graze him enough to draw a thin red line. "I know what you're thinking… I was a teacher at the 'Emerald Dragon Orphanage'—now renamed 'Emerald Garden.' I taught there for 31 years. In my second year, the Church of Sacred Love brought in six Elf infants. One of them was Valcas Ur."
"I gave him his name," Shillin continued, his voice steady, "a name that meant 'free water lily.' Traditionally, Elves choose new names when they leave the orphanage, just as I once did. My name, Shillin Dorr, means 'elegant iron hibiscus.'"
"The fact that Valcas kept the name I gave him… it means he loved it. And it also means…" Shillin's hand moved to rest over his heart.
"It means he respected me as the guardian who raised him."
Ash blinked in disbelief. He had suspected a deep connection between Shillin and Valcas—the unfiltered hatred Valcas displayed toward Shillin was proof of that. But this? This was beyond anything he imagined.
"And yet you sent Valcas to his death under Bloodmoon judgment?"
Shillin's calm demeanor cracked ever so slightly. "What a strange question, Heath. Very strange."
"He broke the law, was arrested, judged, and punished. All of it was his own doing. He walked the wrong path, made the wrong choices, and caused his own demise. Why speak as though I am the one who condemned him?"
"Don't play coy," Ash scoffed, his grip on the sword steady. "Do you think I'd fall for that rhetoric after hearing Fenan's speech? Hiding personal motives behind professional actions, disguising private vendettas as public duty—that's just a small indulgence of power, isn't it?"
"What I want to know is this: how could you, someone with such deep ties to Valcas, decide to eliminate him? Was it because he failed to kill me during our duel? Or was it simply to ensure my death during the Bloodmoon trials, sacrificing him in the process?"
"'Simply'?" For the first time, Shillin's calm facade cracked into anger. "Do you think what I did was simple? I worked relentlessly to see you dead! I gave it everything I had, using every ounce of power and influence at my disposal. And you have the gall to reduce my efforts to a mere 'simply'?!"
The sudden outburst caught Ash off guard. He instinctively stepped back, the Heart's Edge blade leaving Shillin's throat. For a moment, Ash was genuinely unnerved—Shillin leaned forward, seeming to ignore the danger entirely, as though Ash's words had crossed an unforgivable line.
"Relax, Professor Shillin. Let's not lose our heads—figuratively or literally. We can talk this out, calmly," Ash stammered, trying to regain control of the situation.
The roles seemed to reverse in an instant. Ash, the would-be assassin, now found himself placating his target, who was bristling with indignation.
Ash had underestimated Shillin.
He had expected either defiance or fear—two outcomes he knew how to handle. But Shillin was neither. He was… unflappable. Even when Ash's sword was at his throat, he offered no resistance yet revealed enough to keep Ash intrigued.
Ash's plan was simple: use Shillin to gather the critical information he needed to escape Bloodmoon territory, then finish the job and exact revenge for his suffering during the trials. Shillin's status as an insider—politician, scholar, and underground kingpin—made him the perfect source.
But Shillin wasn't playing by the rules.
"I gave him a chance," Shillin muttered suddenly.
"What?"
"I never denied my fellow Elves a chance at redemption," Shillin said, his tone low and melancholy. "Whenever one of them strayed, I always extended a hand, offering them the chance to atone."
"If only I could have shared a drink with Valcas again," Shillin continued wistfully. "I had once hoped to pass this very study to him, just as it was passed to me seventy years ago by my predecessor."
He sighed. "Valcas was everything I admired—an ideal successor. He despised politics, yet excelled at it. He loved the thrill of battle but left no trace behind. He craved danger, which is why he led the Woodpeckers for ten years—the organization's golden years. Compared to him, Gersas is a boar rooting in mud for trinkets."
Shillin paused, his gaze heavy with centuries of accumulated grief.
"Perhaps," he mused, "your original suspicion wasn't entirely wrong."
"My original suspicion?" Ash blinked, confused.
"I was not only his guardian. I may have been his biological… 'contributor.'"
"What?!"
"Perhaps. It's not a certainty," Shillin said dismissively. "Unlike Fenan, I have no interest in tracing my bloodline."
Shillin's detached tone sent a chill through Ash. But before Ash could process Shillin's words fully, his movements slowed.
A strange lethargy crept over him, seizing his limbs, his mind, his very will. He barely registered Shillin stepping out of Heart's Edge's range, his hand glowing as a miracle manifested.
By the time Ash realized what was happening, it was too late.
The floorboards erupted with twisting branches that ensnared him, pinning him in place. In seconds, a massive tree grew in the study, its trunk merging with Ash's body.
Snap!
The sudden release of the time-stalling effect jarred Ash back to full awareness, but it was pointless. He was completely immobilized, his sword dismissed, and his connection to his miracles severed.
"Of course, you couldn't resist the Eye of Awe," Shillin remarked coolly.
Ash's eyes flicked to Shillin's ungloved hand. To his horror, he saw a hole in Shillin's palm—a hole through which a vibrant, hypnotic green eye gazed back.
"You're not Ash Heath," Shillin said, his voice laced with menace. "Who… what are you?"
Though caught, Ash forced a weak grin. "Of course I'm not Ash Heath. I'm just a guy who went out for a midnight stroll. Mind letting me go now?"
Shillin ignored him, muttering to himself.
Then, suddenly, he froze. His expression shifted from confusion to something far darker—fear and rage mingled in his emerald eyes.
"No… could it be?" Shillin whispered, his voice trembling. "The ritual… succeeded?"
His gaze snapped back to Ash, as though trying to peel away the layers of his very being.
"You're the real 'Touch'… aren't you?"