Chapter 39: Hotse Arc (1) - A Girl's Nightmare
Deep in a tranquil forest. Moss glowing with a watery sheen carpets the ground like a rug. A few deer lap at the dew clinging to the moss. Sunlight filters through in patches where the trees' shadows don't reach, and low bushes stretch their leaves wide, yawning awake.
Pong! Pong! Pong!
An elf girl races through the woods.
Pong! Each time her foot sinks into the cool, plush moss cushion, a beautiful xylophone note rings out, and cold water droplets well up.
The deer perk up their ears, pausing mid-drink.
"Ahahaha!"
The pint-sized golden-haired elf is Kutrin, just thirteen this year. The youngest of the Ku clan, she's the adorable little sister to every villager, winning hearts with her charm.
"You thieving cat! It's you again, isn't it? When I catch you, you're in for it, Kutrin!"
Chasing the fleeing Kutrin is old man Kusco, grumbling in anger. He's the finest bladesmith among the Ku elves, renowned far and wide.
"Damn it! With the giants hogging the ridges, there's no more spots to mine Vulcanos!"
As Kusco mutters about his precious metal knife being stolen, his wife, Granny Kurung, chuckles softly beside him.
"You got up at dawn to make that knife just for Kutrin. Why pretend to be mad for no reason?"
"Hmph! Where's the fun in that?"
Granny Kurung smiles warmly as Kusco grins and wipes under his nose.
"Hya! Grandpa Kusco's knife is seriously the best!"
Kutrin hangs upside down from a thick vine, admiring her new blade. It's a kukri—narrow handle, broad and wide at the tip. Perfect for slicing through dense jungle.
She has no idea Grandpa Kusco made it for her, always roaming the woods, worried she'd get hurt. She's just beaming ear to ear.
"With this, one hit for you, one hit for me—even the giants go down in one!"
Kutrin swings the kukri with a flourish.
Clang!
A dead vine snaps clean off.
A blade forged from pure Vulcanos, the legendary metal said to rival dragon scales in strength and hardness. Once plentiful, now it's rarer than rare. Tough yet flexible—the gold standard for weapons.
But it has one glaring flaw. Almost its only one.
Its weight. It's insanely heavy.
Whoosh!
Unable to handle the heft, Kutrin tumbles to the ground.
"Ack!"
Luckily, moss cushions her fall. Her head plops into the soft bed, ringing a cheerful xylophone note as cold dew sprays up.
"Hehehehe."
Even after crashing from the vine, Kutrin giggles nonstop. She's so thrilled with her new knife that the pain doesn't register.
"Alright! Now I'm a full-fledged adult elf!"
Kutrin shouts triumphantly.
The Ku clan—one of seven tribes forming the vast elf society. They once nested deep in the western continent's forests.
But then the giants came. With overwhelming power and vitality, they ravaged the woods to build their civilization, pushing the elves into this tiny forest.
Elite warriors rose to drive them out, but failed. The giants were strong, cunning, relentless—their numbers swelling fast.
The elves dwindled while the giants multiplied. The war's outcome grew clearer with time.
Now, few warrior elves remain in the village. Kutrin yearns to help her clan as a true warrior.
"I'll be a great warrior like Sis. And crush those giants flat!"
Kutrin squeezes her eyes shut, gripping the knife tight. Focusing hard...
Tsssss...
Golden aura gathers at the blade's tip. Like steam or haze, the formless golden energy ripples around it.
"Hya!"
Kutrin thrusts like lightning.
Crack-crack-crack!
A massive boulder splits in one strike. The pond behind it explodes with a bang.
Whoosh!
Water bursts out, raining down like a squall.
Kutrin pouts at the downpour.
"Ugh, not quite right. I did exactly what Sis taught me..."
Recently, Sis showed her how to wield aura. Sis's slash grazed the boulder, pierced the pond—no explosion. The rock's cut was mirror-smooth, water drained silently into a deep gash at the bottom, surface unruffled.
"I'm still so far off."
Kutrin smacks her lips. Gas-phase aura barely reaches average adult warrior level—let alone her genius sister, famed across all seven tribes.
She gazes across the pond at the cliff. There looms the colossal statue of 'Ku,' ancestral founder of the Ku clan.
The mightiest ice mage in history. A hero who breached the tenth circle—dragon territory. Carved from an ancient tree tens of thousands of years old, it captures Ku's valiant form perfectly.
Kutrin recalls the clan chief Ku Yak's tale.
'Pray the same wish before Ku's statue every day, a thousand times—and it comes true.'
Staring at Ku's face, Kutrin prays her usual wish.
"Please let Sis and me live happily in a peaceful world."
Praying to the statue, she realizes—this is her 999th time. She notches a mark on the rock each prayer.
Scratch.
Exactly 999.
"Hehe, one more tomorrow! Then a full thousand!"
Kutrin grabs her new kukri and dashes off. Time for dinner at home. Sis is back from patrol—her steps quicken with excitement.
What first with Sis? 'Beg for food?' 'Head pats till I sleep?' No, giant battle stories! Or knife lessons. Wait—hugs and cheek kisses first!
But before that...
"Oops! Almost forgot!"
Kutrin spins back, plucks a bunch of yellow wildflowers—Sis's favorite.
Clutching the golden bouquet, she bounds homeward, smile bursting.
"...Huh?"
Back in the Ku village, Kutrin's eyes widen as she scans around.
Fishmonger Kuyan, always gutting lake catches. Carpenter's son Kuyins, whittling tops to be a master. Harp-playing Kuz, singing in her spot. Showy jeweler Kuniel. Bestie Kushike, adventure buddy in the woods. And old Kusco, her kukri maker.
Faces always there—since her birth, till after her death.
Now, all cold corpses littering the ground.
Moss soaked red with their blood, dark and slick.
Pong!
Stepping on moss sends droplets flying. But not cool and fresh—warm, sticky seeping between toes. Dull thud.
Blood droplets.
"Th-this is..."
Kutrin's mind chills sharply.
Corpses of warriors and civilians alike. Indiscriminate slaughter.
She knows one being capable of this horror.
"Giants!"
But she shakes her head. Giants average over ten meters. Their fists, feet, weapons would pulverize bodies.
These corpses bear clean sword cuts.
Seeing the gash in Kusco's gut, Kutrin bites her lip. Neat slice through belly, guts mashed to pulp.
No tears yet.
"I'll avenge you, Grandpa."
Her voice steady, calm—surprising even herself. She reaches out, gently closes his eyes.
Clutches the nameless kukri—now his legacy.
Who did this?
What madman invaded the elf woods for a massacre?
Then—
Aaagh!
A scream rips from the village outskirts. Acrid smoke stings her nose!
"...!"
Kutrin's eyes bulge. She knows this—the forest's every element screaming!
Fire! The woods' worst terror!
She bolts like thunder. The scream, flames, intruder—all there.
Kutrin skids to a halt. Stares at the blaze, rooted like a post.
Roll-roll...
A familiar head rolls up—bodyless.
Clan chief Ku Yak.
"..."
The attacker who just severed it turns, flames at his back.
Expressionless eyes. Cold, intellectual features. Slender frame mismatched with a massive bastard sword.
A face Kutrin knows well.
How could she not? The one she yearns for even in dreams.
"S... Sis?"
Kutrin gapes, disbelieving. The kukri clatters from her hand.
"..."
Kubelin. Kutrin's sister, seven years older. The orphan's sole family tie to the world.
Kubelin gazes silently at her little sister. Backlit by crimson flames, her hair gleams gold like blood-soaked sunset.
Kutrin collapses, trembling. Legs give out. Did a demon from myth possess Sis? Reality feels unreal.
Kubelin approaches quietly, kneels to meet her eyes.
"Know the legend of the Bloody Elf?"
"..."
"Kill a hundred of your own clan, and an elf evolves. Into a red-haired incarnation of battle. You've heard it, right?"
Kutrin shakes her head furiously. First time hearing this. Truly.
Kubelin nods blankly, unconcerned.
"Becoming a Bloody Elf changes everything. Strength multiplies hundreds-fold, eyes sharpen. Like a whole new race."
"..."
Kubelin glances at her body. Eyes Kutrin once adored all day now blood-red, steeped in flame and gore.
Kutrin can't meet them.
Undeterred, Kubelin continues.
"Get it?"
"...?"
"Excluding you and me, the Ku clan numbered exactly ninety-nine."
What is she saying? As Kutrin opens her mouth—
Pfsh!
A short sound.
Kutrin looks down slowly. Kubelin's dagger pierces her heart dead center.
"..."
Kutrin slumps into the soft moss.
Kubelin rises.
"Exactly one hundred."
She flicks blood from the blade.
Glancing at her long hair—tinged reddish. Still mostly gold. Without the firelight, barely different.
She clenches her fist.
"Legends are just legends, after all..."
Kubelin sheathes her sword and leaves the village. Toward the forest's edge.
Flames roar through the empty, lifeless village, devouring all.
Until a downpour finally quenches them moments later.