#64 Edel's Soap Opera (3)
The dark elves plotting to ambush Bellatel were being remarkably careless.
Of course, they'd taken basic precautions—erasing their presence, deploying detection spells—but a sliver of complacency lingered in their hearts, impossible to shake.
"He's sleeping on the second floor of the house."
The squad leader, Gerenius, nodded at his subordinate's report from the detection spell.
"Got it."
They could charge in right then, but Gerenius ordered a visual confirmation anyway.
Soon, one of his men slipped away, scouted, and returned with a report.
"I peeked through the gap in the wooden shutters. Confirmed an old mage asleep inside. We can go right in."
"Good."
The target knew nothing of the raid and had made no preparations.
No reason left to hesitate.
"Two teams of five. First team strikes, second provides backup."
At the command, his men finally grinned with satisfaction, slithering into the shadows.
Everyone just wanted to wrap it up quick and grab a drink.
But trouble hit fast.
The first team entered the house long ago, yet no reaction—no screams, no clashing steel, no crashing furniture.
Even a botched silent kill should've produced something. But it was as if they'd vanished the moment they crossed the threshold, their presences utterly gone.
"What the hell?"
The second team's leader, on backup, was baffled.
His men were too.
"Captain, what now?"
"Shouldn't we go in?"
The leader scratched his head in irritation, snapping harshly.
"Shut up for a sec, you idiots."
He didn't think the first team had been taken out.
So what happened?
Pondering, he pieced it together.
"I get it, you bastards."
He was sharp.
Even here, he spun a plausible theory.
"Listen up. Those guys killed the mage and found something big."
"Huh? Found what?"
"Exactly. The mage had something valuable. They're dicking around now, figuring out what to do with it—how to split it, how much to keep secret."
"Oh!"
It sounded spot-on.
They'd do the same in that spot.
Greedy dark elves wouldn't share treasure with another team willingly.
"Those pricks!"
"Captain's right."
All marveled at his wisdom.
So when he urged a furious charge inside, no one objected.
"Let's go."
"Time to give these cowards a taste of the blade."
The second team stormed the second floor with murderous glares.
But they soon gaped like fools.
The first team lay scattered on the floor.
"What the—?"
Stunned, they froze but rushed to check.
"They're alive. Asleep."
"All five?"
"Yes."
"Check the bed!"
Two yanked back the blankets on the mage's bed at his order.
But it was just a thick bundle of straw.
The "mage" the detection spell had spotted was merely an illusion crafted from dry grass.
Grand Mage Bellatel's crafty one-step-ahead ploy.
The entire second floor was a trap; the intruders might as well have been rats in a cage.
The sharp captain realized it instantly and opened his mouth to shout.
"Damn it! A trap—"
But he never finished.
A flash blinked, followed by a massive explosion.
BOOM!
Fierce flames erupted into the night sky.
The sturdy house's second floor vanished in an instant.
CRASH! BOOM!
Part of the first floor collapsed amid the din.
Naturally, the dark elves inside were obliterated, not even bones left.
"Perfect!"
Bellatel, who'd slipped out after Owen's warning and watched from hiding, pumped his fist.
Seeing his trap spring flawlessly left his mouth agape in a huge grin.
Sleep spell first, explosion second—simple incantations, but a grand mage's handiwork made them devastating.
"Now, leave the rest to that Owen punk."
As Bellatel gripped his staff in hiding, Owen unfurled his dragon scroll.
"Grenville!"
A red small-type dragon burst from the scroll at his name.
"Eung!"
Owen and Grenville charged the dark elves waiting outside.
Stunned by the blast, they panicked at the sudden dragon.
"What?!"
"Gah! Dragon!"
Only then did they grasp it was all a setup.
Veteran dark elves moved to counter, but Owen was a step faster.
"Grenville! Breathe!"
Owen touched a torch to Grenville's maw, igniting a massive blaze.
WHOOSH!
Dark elves drawing weapons screamed as fire rained down.
"Gaaah! Aaaagh!"
Engulfed, they rolled desperately to extinguish the flames.
No use.
"Grenville! Again!"
Owen unleashed Grenville's full daily quota of fire—twice max.
The counterattack crumbled completely.
"Aaaagh!"
"Gah! Mercy!"
Terror gripped them at the sight of comrades wreathed in fire.
No one expected a dragon; panic reigned.
One by one, they turned and fled—no fight left in them.
Even leader Gerenius bolted like a spooked rabbit—this brutal race reduced to prey.
Owen mounted Grenville instantly, pursuing.
The fleeing dark elves freaked.
"It's following!"
"Run! Faster!"
Swords drawn but untouched, they strained to flee.
Owen trailed leisurely; Grenville was faster anyway.
Swish! Swish!
Only tall grass rustling endlessly.
Man-high fields—perfect for a low-slung dragon like Grenville to stalk unseen.
Or rather, that's why they'd chosen this spot amid the grass.
"Hurry! Come on!"
"Crazy! No one said anything about a dragon!"
But greater panic hit soon.
The pursuing dragon vanished.
"Where?! Where is it?!"
"Gone? Where?!"
No dragon in sight; no clue which way to run.
Feet their only trust, they pounded a narrow, unkempt country path—until nearby grass collapsed in waves, filling them with dread.
"It's coming! That thing's stalking us!"
The grass-hidden dragon was suffocating terror incarnate.
Gerenius tried a detection spell for its position—nothing.
Bellatel nearby was jamming their magic.
Finally, a straggler got his face chomped by Grenville bursting from the grass.
"Aaaagh!"
A final scream; Grenville's jaws pulverized his skull.
Last man down like that, the dark elves leaped in fright.
Bows already ditched—their key weapon—they just ran.
"It's a Tokay dragon!"
"Aaaagh! Agh!"
Only now did they realize: days ago hunters, now the hunted—completely reversed.
They'd been the shadows; now fleeing an unseen dragon.
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"This is a nightmare!"
Someone's mutter voiced their dread.
Soon, panic and frenzy scattered them every which way.
Better one survive than all die together.
Owen atop Grenville smirked at it.
'Idiots. Scattering's useless against Grenville's nose.'
Its scent-tracking beat a dog's.
"Alright, Grenville. Let's pick 'em off one by one."
"Eung!"
No need hiding now; Grenville bounded joyfully through grass.
Thud-thud-thud!
Owen lassoed neatly from above—a looped rope end snaring a fleeing dark elf's neck perfectly.
"Gack!"
Choked, he dangled airborne before slamming back-first.
Thud!
The dull impact sounded brutal.
Owen tied the rope to his saddle, dragging the catch along.
"Aaaagh! Mercy!"
The dangling elf screamed, ignored as Owen pursued the next.
"Agh!"
Another snared identically.
And so on; Owen captured every last one.
Like bug-collecting—fun.
All roped tight together: five survivors.
Twenty-two attackers; seventeen dead.
"Owen!"
Bellatel emerged from hiding with Hyper.
Owen nodded, saying he'd interrogate first—who sent them.
"Fine. Do as you will—for now."
Bellatel prioritized that over the herb field.
Owen dove in, but silence.
Fierce pride sealed their lips.
Owen stayed calm.
"Playing tough? Wrong guy."
Reborn Owen knew dark elves better than most.
He knew the perfect leverage beyond torture.
"Think silence ends it? You'll talk eventually."
"Hah, funny, human brat."
Gerenius scoffed.
Captured by a surprise dragon, not this kid—laughable.
But Owen's next words blanched him.
"I know dark elf customs cold. Like how captives shame you most. So, how about I make a document with all your fingerprints and send it to the Frozen Land?"
"What?"
Instant reaction.
Dark elves used fingerprints expertly—unlike humans' vague tree-ring awareness.
Theirs ID'd fingers precisely.
Documents got prints; vital ones more; top-tier all ten.
"Think I wouldn't know?"
"So what?!"
"I'll ink prints from you 'leader' types and ship to the Frozen Land. Begging ransom for release from shameful human capture."
"Hah! How? How you sending to Frozen Land?"
"Don't worry your head. I know how."
Owen did—past life, countless taunting letters to the queen.
Got stabbed for it, but still.
"Lies?"
"Yeah. If contact needed, capital's dark elf mercenary HQ..."
Gerenius's frantic excuse drew Owen's smirk.
"Nah, not there. They'd hush it internally. Organizations do that—sweep dirt before higher-ups. Human or dark elf, same."
That rattled Gerenius.
"Even if you know how, letters need elegant form. And which city—?"
"No sweat. I know it all—even queen-worthy. Lemme see..."
Owen stripped Gerenius's torso, revealing a ornate heart tattoo.
"Black Shadow Serpent Clan."
"You bastard!"
Gerenius's eyes bulged—how?
"Surprised a human knows your clan? Want more? Black Shadow Serpent's queen-favored. New nobles from last memorial mass."
Too detailed; no bluffing.
This human was an expert.
Cold sweat poured as talk dragged.
"...What do you want?"
"Told ya, dummy. Who's behind this? And a little cooperation on the matter."
"Betray?"
"Nah, not betrayal."
Owen draped an arm around Gerenius chummily.
"Think: better this ends as one failed eastern op, right? You'll get grilled, but you're just a minion. The one's who ordered it eats big. You reflect, done."
"......"
"Or want Frozen Land buzzing you were captured by humans? Social death for you; disgrace for clan. Rival clans clawing for queen's favor—you handle alone?"
Gerenius reeled—suicide only out.
He didn't want to die yet.
"Spill the backer, meet demands—you release? And keep secret from Frozen Land?"
"Promise."
"Swear by our god?"
"Of course. By dark elf gods."
Assured, Gerenius pondered.
Op failed anyway.
Spill on Brasiana (as Hanna the widow), bail?
'That damn bitch always looked down on us.'
Past slights burned now.
Owen pressed his hesitation.
"Decide quick. Prints mean no pretty sight."
"What?"
"Chop all ten fingers, use as stamps."
"Heh..."
Mind blown.
Kid, but heart black as his own.
Resistance meant no bones left.
"Fine... accept."
"Smart."
As Owen wrapped it, Bellatel called.
"A word."
"Yes."
"Such a promise? Swearing by their god binds you."
"I know."
"But Karaku and orcs want revenge. Herb field raid killed comrades."
"No worry. Orcs satisfied."
"Hm? You misunderstand..."
"No. Understood fine, Bellatel. Promised no contact to homeland, release them."
"Right."
"But if orcs 'happen' to be waiting where I release? Unavoidable, no?"
Bellatel got it, jaw dropping.
"What! You devil...!"
Yes.
Owen never planned gentle release.
Wring info, then feed to revenge-mad orcs for cleanup.
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