Straw Doll Left Lying Around (2)
“All right, from here on, the knights must wait. Only the two of you may enter.”
As they reached the heart of the camp, Orkeus blocked the accompanying knights.
The knights naturally protested, but Russell Count shook his head.
“You lot stay here.”
“But how can we—!”
“It’s fine. Stand down.”
He didn’t voice it, but Russell Count considered them useless anyway.
If the dark elves mean to kill me, what difference would a few knights make?
From here on, his survival hinged on himself alone—that was Russell Count’s conviction.
In truth, he had navigated countless crises as a diplomat.
He trusted his tongue far more than any knight’s sword.
“This way.”
Guided by Orkeus, they entered a space bristling with dark elf weaponry like a thicket of blades.
Soldiers eyed Owen and Russell Count with a mix of curiosity and hostility.
Glancing around, Owen spotted several formidable warriors.
Ahead loomed two massive command tents—clearly the queen’s and the matron’s.
Orkeus led them to the somewhat smaller one belonging to the matron.
“Her Majesty the Queen will appear when she meets the Suffolk Duke. Lord Russell Count, please coordinate with our matron first.”
“Of course. Understood.”
Russell Count regretted not meeting the queen but accepted it as standard procedure.
“Sir Leire, you wait here.”
But as Owen moved to follow Russell Count into the tent, Orkeus extended a hand to stop him.
“Apologies, but only Lord Russell Count is qualified to meet the matron. Allowing you this far was a courtesy to a fellow dragon knight—not like the others.”
“...Understood.”
Owen nodded as if he had no choice.
This stirred complex emotions in Russell Count.
Without Owen, he couldn’t seek advice on dark elf matters when needed.
It was certainly inconvenient.
Yet a sense of superiority gripped him.
Right, I’m the star of this show. That Leire pup belongs outside like a dog.
Russell Count trusted his own abilities.
He decided to ignore any trivial advice Owen might offer.
As Russell Count headed off to meet the Shadow Bat Family matron, Owen was left standing alone outside.
But it didn’t last long.
Orkeus returned discreetly, beckoning him.
“Now, to meet Her Majesty. Sir Leire.”
“...You received word from Brasiana?”
“Correct. A warning: even the slightest discourtesy before her, and you won’t leave alive.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Orkeus didn’t know the queen sought a private audience with Owen over the curse matter.
He couldn’t fathom why the supreme being would bother with this young knight in secret.
Whatever. I’ll just follow orders.
It was unfortunate for Russell Count, who was little more than a distraction today.
The matron would drag out empty talks without agreement.
To buy time for the queen’s meeting with Owen.
Russell Count would waste his passion in vain.
“The most noble one resides here.”
They arrived at a vast tent of pitch-black leather.
It was enormous and intricately structured.
Around it rose hastily piled stone walls.
Such effort in the wild confirmed it as the queen’s quarters.
But the biggest giveaway wasn’t that.
What in the world!
Owen startled at the figure before the tent.
A presence that could unsettle even him stood there.
Why is she here?
The hunched dark elf was none other than Kalania Budura.
One of his mortal enemies from his past life.
A legendary dark elf witch, they had threatened each other’s lives countless times.
Yet he’d failed to kill her—and now fate reunited them after reincarnation.
That old monster’s still alive. Of course... twenty years is too short for that hag to die.
She’d been a notoriously tricky foe even for his past self.
And to cross paths at such a critical moment.
“Hm?”
Kalania, staring at the ground, suddenly looked up, scanning around. Spotting Owen, she tilted her head and scowled.
“What’s that creepy little human brat?”
Her tone was outright menacing.
Orkeus quickly intervened.
He knew Kalania’s arrogant ways and tendency to strike without warning.
“Her Majesty’s guest. I informed you in advance.”
“Hmmm... now that you mention it.”
Kalania scratched her matted hair with nails like a beast’s.
Something clicked.
“Then excuse us.”
As Orkeus tried to lead Owen past, Kalania thrust her staff to block them.
“Hold it!”
“Yes? What is it?”
“You, step aside.”
“But Her Majesty awaits.”
“Tch! I’m her guard. I decide who approaches.”
Orkeus had no choice but to yield as she narrowed her eyes.
As a legendary figure among dark elves, defiance was impossible.
“Hmmm... come here, human.”
As Owen approached, Kalania’s cloudy eyes tracked him.
Rumored blind, she acted as if she saw clearly often.
Dark elves whispered she beheld a spiritual realm others couldn’t.
Now, she kept tilting her head.
“Strange. You’re just a young human... so why do you smell like that dead man’s soul? Hm?”
Cold sweat beaded on Owen’s brow.
If his old nemesis pierced his disguise, he was dead.
Unlike his past life, he lacked the power to face her now.
Not even with Grenville’s aid.
He could only pray the moment passed.
But her next words made him flinch.
“Or... just a new face? Owen Glendower?”
“...I don’t follow.”
“Hmmm...”
Kalania extended her wrinkled, tattooed hand toward Owen’s face, lightly scraping his cheek with sharp nails.
Scraaape.
Chills ran through Owen, but he gritted his teeth.
After prodding him, Kalania nodded faintly.
“Fine, no transformation magic. This is your real mug. No spell fools me... so really no connection?”
Kalania was baffled.
As she tilted her head, her necklace of enemies’ bones rattled.
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“Should I kill you here, boy? My instincts... all scream yes...”
It felt genuine, not a probe.
Sweat dotted Owen’s forehead.
The queen surely overheard from inside.
Yet she didn’t intervene.
Owen realized he had to resolve this himself.
Steeling himself, he spoke.
“Kill me if you wish.”
“Heh, no pity for your life?”
“Today confirms it: Duke Glendower’s assessment was spot on.”
“What?”
Kalania raised one eyebrow.
It piqued her interest.
Everyone’s curious about others’ opinions of them.
Especially a lifelong rival’s.
“Clever brat. Spill that, and I let you go?”
“No. Just came to mind.”
“Then out with it.”
“Dark elves might not know, but Duke Glendower left a book. It detailed his foes.”
“Oh? What’d he say about me?”
“Kalania Budura worries over trifles. That’s why her power achieves little.”
“Ugh!”
Kalania’s face twisted.
He’d struck a nerve.
She wielded world-shaking might yet fixated on petty things.
Her rival calling it out stung.
But Owen pressed on.
“Seeing you today proves it true. Her Majesty summoned me for important matters. Killing me over annoyance? How could the duke be wrong?”
“Urk...!”
Owen’s pointed words left her speechless.
Her face flushed hot.
Me, centuries old, schooled by this whelp...
Rage surged, but the dead duke’s words echoed.
He’d mocked her pettiness.
Killing the boy now would prove him right.
Even dead, she couldn’t stomach that.
Can’t let a corpse laugh at me. Grr...
Normally, she’d strike him down.
This time, she chose otherwise.
“Hoo... you’re right.”
Orkeus, watching anxiously, gaped at her admission.
He’d never been so shocked.
Kalania admitting fault?
Arrogant, disdainful of all save the queen.
Even her own matron was a joke to her.
Yet here she was, yielding to a human boy not fully grown.
The sun would rise in the west tomorrow.
Truly exceptional. Worth befriending.
Orkeus warmed to Owen.
With exile and inevitable clashes with humans ahead, this boy seemed promising.
“Hmph! I’ll let you pass—for now. But I’ll be watching.”
Permission granted.
She scowled as Owen passed but didn’t stop him.
Only inside the queen’s tent did Owen exhale in relief.
The interior had a triple-layered structure; newcomers faced a long rectangular hall mimicking a palace corridor.
Brasiana awaited there.
She sidled up and whispered urgently.
“Are you insane? She’s an elder even Her Majesty respects. And you scold her?”
“Should I have let her kill me meekly?”
“N-no! But still...”
“Announce me.”
At the door, Owen nodded toward it.
Brasiana’s expression twisted, but she complied.
“Your Majesty. Owen Leire seeks audience.”
Silence, then a clear voice replied.
“Enter.”
Owen’s heart pounded.
It’s her. No doubt.
Once allies bound by oath, turned bitter foes who slew each other.
Reborn, they met again.
A cursed fate.
The door opened; Owen stepped in.
In the vast space sat the dark elf queen on a makeshift jade throne.
Encased in jet-black armor.
But Owen saw clearly.
Her eyes, visible through the helm’s slit, trembled violently.
Creeeak.
The queen gripped the armrest unconsciously, her gauntlet scraping wood.
Owen advanced boldly, dropping to one knee.
“Long live the Queen! May boundless glory be yours!”
Flawless dark elven tongue.
“I am Owen Leire, come to convey the Suffolk Duke’s will.”
Despite the greeting, the queen didn’t speak.
Brasiana fidgeted worriedly.
She’d abandoned the Edel scheme for this.
Failure meant no escape from blame.
Unable to bear it, she spoke.
“Your Majesty?”
But the queen had no words.
Seeing Owen had already electrified her.
Impossible. This can’t be. A mistake.
Her breath caught.
Denial only sharpened reality.
His accent matched the man in her memories.
“Hah...! Hah...”
The helm she’d worn since her affliction felt suffocating for the first time.
Gasping, she barely restrained herself for decorum.
“Withdraw...”
“Pardon?”
“I said withdraw!”
The queen’s shout startled Brasiana into a bow.
“Your Majesty! Forgive me! I’ll go at once!”
Brasiana fled.
Now, only Owen and the dark elf queen remained.
An eerie silence fell.
Finally, steadying her trembling voice, she asked.
“Who the hell are you?”
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