25. The Price of Hospitality (2)

By the time it got dark, Emma sobered up a bit. Still slow and very fatigued, at least she was not cackling.

I asked her to tell me more about half-elves. Being someone who grew up watching fantasy movies, I got bored of elves rather quickly, so I stopped to consider the elves of Ancient Blades, much less their half-breed counterparts.

“The name half-elf is both an insult and a praise. There is no such thing as a full-elf. A full-elf would be a formless god who exists only through magic. How much of you is an elf is determined by how much of your life essence, the basis of your existence, is made out of magic.”

I sat at the end of her bed, munching on an apple. “Wouldn’t having magic as half of your essence makes you an elemental?” I asked curiously. Sadly, she could not reply to that.

“Half-elves are viewed as lesser beings. People understand magic and how magic works, but not how the essence of life. Where does it come from? How does it work? People don’t know, so they treat it as something mystical. And when half of your existence is not something mystical, but something people use for party tricks and to kill each other, your value as a person takes a hit. Your life becomes less valuable than that of others.”

“There are some good things about it, though,” she continued, “I don’t need funny-looking staffs or weird relics to cast magic. My body can do that by itself. Sometimes even without me recognizing it. The only downside is, my magical abilities are tied to my body’s current state. If I’m tired, my magic is almost non-existent. They say this will get better as I grow older, half-elves produce more mana the longer they live. But a half-elf’s lifespan is tied to the magic around them. If put in an environment without any magic, they will perish in days.”

Her words had implications that left me scared. What if we have to travel, let’s say, by boat, for days? Will she die out on the sea because we could not rub her with any magic stones?

If humans are animals, half-elves are like plants. Not only do they need water, food, and oxygen, but sunlight too, or they perish.

“What is your source of magic?” I asked.

Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You said that half-elves perish without a magical source, yet your body remained strong, even after being hit by a ballista’s arrow. Without a strong magic source, you wouldn’t have had the strength to pull through. So, what is it? The sun? The trees? The earth itself?”

She stared at me, shocked. Perhaps she did not think I would figure it out so soon. After all, I told her I come from somewhere far away, and she knew I was unfamiliar with half-elves, yet I correctly guessed three possible magical sources.

Her face contorted into a disgusted stare.

“Axel, what’s the biggest thing you can fit up your ass?”

“Huh?” I replied, so bewildered that the apple fell out of my hand.

“See? It’s weird when people ask you that. It’s private info you don’t just share with others. A half-elf’s magic source is much the same. You don’t just tell anyone about it.”

I was at a loss for words. Was this a fantasy game or a romance game I fell into? Do I have to bring her on a date just to tell me that?!

Maybe she got me a bit mad, but whatever. As soon as this exchange of words finished, Heidl peeked through the door and spoke to us with a smile.

“Hey, guys! The dinner’s ready!” She said cutely in her orcish deep voice.

I turned back to Emma to help her up from the bed, but she was already standing, although hunched forward, leaning onto the walking stick gifted to her by Gren.

She stared up at me with emotionless eyes, wrath flickering in her gaze. “What?” she asked, then slowly walked past me.

Her sudden switch of mood left me stunned. I knew she was still recovering from all that poison pumped down her throat, but this was something else.

I was told people are much more honest and truer to themselves after drinking alcohol, as they forget their worries. Yet this subject seemed to worry Emma so much that even now, she was ready to hate me for my question alone.

– – –

The old clock ticked rhythmically in the dining room. I sat on the opposite side of the table, in front of the clock.

Tick-tick-tick.

It was the kind that an hour hand and a cuckoo coming out of it every hour. Modest. Carved out of wood. There were clear signs of care, and the paint job was clearly done with love.

How much would it cost for an Ancient Blades NPC to buy such a thing? There was no way to tell, so I went by guesswork alone.

It was a trusty way of knowing the time, which is a plus. It can easily break and there is no way to set it perfectly, which is a minus.

It was well painted and it looks pleasing to the eye, which is a plus. The cuckoo can scare the living shit out of anyone, so that is a minus.

Observing the paintjob more, I noticed something strange. A line of black spots ran across the clock’s side, almost like some kind of liquid was sprayed onto it and the paint had sucked it in.

Hehe, suck. Funny word.

My line of thought came to an end when the entrance door opened. Gren walked in, smiling ever so sweetly.

Gren’s mother looked out from the kitchen and asked her, mimicking her smile:

“Why were you so late, dear?”

“Excuse me, mother! But I have found another lost adventurer while gathering mushrooms for dinner!”

As she said that, two ears appeared peeking through the door. Cat ears. Suddenly, a blonde catboy, whose skin was as brown as cappuccino, leaned in through the doorframe. He wore red women’s clothes, reminiscent of an Arabic belly dance dress. A veil covered his mouth, letting only his emerald-green eyes be seen.

The sound of a flush emanated from the nearby bathroom. The door opened with a creak, then Nyeander walked out, with her nose in the air.

“The mighty Nyeander does not need to wash her hands!” she announced proudly, then stopped when she saw the other Neko. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and shock.

“Hoy! My name is Sebastian, nya!” he meowed those words, followed by a purr.

Nyeander awkwardly laughed, then threw a side-glance at me. I shrugged, saying I do not know who this is. Yet her gaze pressed on as if waiting for my assistance.