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[Translator - Peptobismol]
[Proofreader - Demon God]
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Chapter 180 - Kirrin’s Black Forest (3)
The snare rope snapped taut, slithering across the floor like a snake before coiling up toward the ceiling.
Tracing the rope with my eyes, I quickly figured out its mechanism.
The moment someone stepped inside and set foot on the floor, the snare would tighten around their ankle and hoist them upside down.
The trap itself was crude in design, but if caught off guard, there’d be no escaping it.
Who the hell set this up here? And for what purpose?
Just then, a sharp sting pricked the back of my neck.
I reached up and felt something thin and long lodged in my skin.
Plucking it out, I held it up to my eyes—at the tip of the needle-like object was a tiny cotton-like puff.
It wasn’t the shape of a mutated mosquito’s proboscis. Was it a poison dart?
I flicked my tongue over the tip, and a sharp tingling sensation spread across my mouth.
A powerful paralytic toxin.
First the snare, now this? Someone clearly wanted me alive.
But who?
I quickly pieced together the situation and turned my gaze toward the direction the dart had likely been fired from.
The far corner of the room.
It wasn’t the window. Just an empty, shadowed space.
The darkness pooled thickly there, making it impossible to see what lurked within.
Should I go check?
No. If my opponent was skilled enough to suppress their presence beyond my detection, approaching them directly might just make them flee.
Better to draw them out.
I let the dart slip from my fingers, clutched my forehead, and swayed unsteadily.
"Why do I feel… so sleepy…"
Then, I let myself collapse.
A few moments later, two glowing red dots emerged from the darkness.
Slowly, they approached me—
Eyes.
Deep ruby-red pupils, unmistakably belonging to a dark elf.
But not Kirrin.
If it were Kirrin, I would have recognized her signature perfume immediately.
Besides, Kirrin was only half dark elf.
She wasn’t skilled enough to fully erase her presence like this, nor did she have skin as pitch-black as the figure before me.
The one standing over me now was male, slender but built for speed.
His complexion was so dark that it was nearly impossible to tell where his skin ended and the surrounding shadows began.
A pureblood.
And his face—
I had seen it somewhere before.
Or had I? Was I imagining things?
It wasn’t easy distinguishing faces of a different race, especially among pureblood dark elves. Their features blended into the darkness too seamlessly.
"Ini lebih mudah dari yang kuharapkan. (That was surprisingly easy.)"
The dark elf muttered something in his own tongue, his voice cold and detached.
"Aku tidak tahu apa-apa lagi, tapi sepertinya tidak ada resistensi terhadap racun. (It seems he does not have a poison resistance skill.)"
A deep, low voice spoke from behind me.
The moment I heard it, a memory clicked into place.
The imperial intelligence competition.
There had been a dark elf there, someone Kirrin had introduced as one of her brothers.
A massive man with this very voice.
And the one standing before me—his hairstyle was familiar, too.
"(We should move quickly. No need to waste time.)"
Two of Kirrin’s brothers had infiltrated the Headmaster’s office, set traps, and waited to ambush me?
What the hell was Kirrin’s role in this?
Was she involved, or was she completely unaware?
Either way, why the hell were they going this far?
They spoke their own language so openly, as if I was deaf—completely disregarding the fact that I understood the common tongue.
What was this situation?
"(Still, just in case, let’s make sure he’s fully unconscious. I’ll knock him out properly.)"
The deep voice again. This time, a heavy scraping sound accompanied it—something massive being dragged across the floor.
"(You’re really going to use that? If he dies, we’re screwed, Brother.)"
"(I know this man well. He won’t die from something like this.)"
"(That’s a weapon for hunting large monsters. If something goes wrong—)"
"(Don’t worry. He won’t die.)"
…The hell were these guys going on about?
Maybe it was time to open my eyes.
Just then, a violent shift in the air—
And an immense, crushing pressure bore down on my head.
BOOM!
Something impossibly hard and heavy struck my temple.
# # # # #
"Brother."
Zakrion, the dark elf, looked down at the steel club embedded in Dian’s head.
"What if you killed him?"
"He’s not dead."
Drebren, the deep-voiced dark elf, casually lifted his weapon.
Unlike a typical club, this one was shaped like a triangular prism, its three edges sharpened to deadly points.
The only reason Dian wasn’t split open was that Drebren had intentionally struck him with the flat side.
Had it been one of the bladed edges… there wouldn’t have been anything left to discuss.
That was why Zakrion had opposed using it in the first place.
"Normally, his skull would’ve shattered. But look—he’s perfectly fine."
Drebren gestured toward Dian’s head with his club.
"That’s… impressively tough. No one’s ever survived one of your blows before, Brother."
"Let’s wrap this up. Where are the chains?"
"Here."
Zakrion lifted a set of iron chains, inscribed with glowing blue runes.
"You’re sure about this?"
"Of course. They can only be undone with dispel magic."
Drebren stepped over Dian’s body to take the chains—
And then—
"(I don’t know what the hell’s going on here.)"
Both dark elves snapped their heads up.
Dian was slowly rising to his feet.
"(But shouldn’t you at least tell me why you’re here before bashing my skull in?)"
He casually picked up the fried chicken bag that had fallen beside him.
"(Instead of opening with a steel bat to the head?)"
Drebren muttered under his breath.
"What the hell is this…"
"Isn’t it obvious, Brother? He’s awake."
Zakrion spoke indifferently.
"He must have some kind of resistance to poison."
"Strange. That paralytic was potent enough to bring down a mutated basilisk. Not to mention, I hit him."
"Does that matter? The issue here is that he’s conscious."
"Hmph… If the traps and poison won’t work, there’s only one option left."
Drebren spun his club before resting it on his shoulder.
"We’ll do this the old-fashioned way."
Zakrion pulled out a pair of brass knuckles and slid them onto his fists.
"Shall I take him on first?"
"You won’t last alone. He’s incredibly strong. I struggled against him back in the Black Swamp."
"Is that so? Then let’s go with a two-on-one approach."
Zakrion raised his fists and steadied his stance.
"Father mustn’t hear of this, Brother. He’d consider it disgraceful that we revealed our faces to the target."
"Of course."
"Then—I’m going in."
Zakrion lunged forward—
And was instantly kicked in the stomach.
A violent, bone-rattling boom erupted as Dian’s foot sank into his gut.
For a brief moment, Zakrion didn’t even realize he had been struck.
All he felt was the bizarre sensation of an invisible hook yanking him backward.
It wasn’t until his feet left the ground that he finally understood—
He had been hit first.
"Guh—!!"
Blood spewed from his mouth as he flew back.
Drebren caught his limp body with a single arm.
"I told you we should’ve fought together, little brother."
"I underestimated him…"
Zakrion wiped the blood from his lips and forced himself upright.
But his body screamed with pain.
Seeing this, Drebren stepped forward.
"I’ll handle him first. Recover, then join in."
Dian cracked his neck.
"(So you guys really don’t want to talk this out, huh?)"
"Persuasion and negotiation? That would be an insult to our clan, Dian."
Drebren gripped his weapon tightly.
"I wanted to test myself against you ever since the Black Swamp. Ten years later—"
He couldn’t finish his sentence. Dian had already disappeared from his vision.
# # # # #
The terrace and wall of the Headmaster’s office shattered as two dark elves were sent flying.
They tumbled across the stone pavement, rolling several times before coming to a stop.
Dian followed after them, walking toward them at a steady pace.
"Brother…! He’s coming…!"
"Shit…."
Drebren cursed under his breath, his eyes darting around in search of his missing club.
They had assumed the two of them would be enough.
They had underestimated their opponent.
But they couldn’t return empty-handed.
Drebren made a quick decision.
"Go into stealth, Zakrion."
"Wait… Are you suggesting we abandon the target? That would be a disgrace to the Nemara Clan!"
"We’re not abandoning him. We’re lying in wait."
It was the dead of night.
The academy was in its break period, meaning all the lights were off—
A perfect environment for dark elves to hide.
Back in the office, Dian hadn’t noticed their presence at all while they were concealed.
If they ambushed him properly, they could win.
"…That’s a sound plan. Let’s do it."
Just as the two dark elves prepared to vanish—
Thwack!
"Ugh! What the—?!"
Something hit Zakrion square in the face.
He rubbed his cheek, then looked down at the ground.
There, lying at his feet, was a perfectly crisp, golden-brown fried chicken drumstick.
Dian casually reached into the paper bag he was holding and pulled out another one.
Thwack!
This time, the drumstick struck Drebren right in the solar plexus.
"You have to be joking."
"Ignore him, Zakrion. Stick to the plan—vanish."
Without another word, the two dark elves moved.
Their bodies blurred and faded into the darkness, disappearing in an instant.
Dark elf stealth wasn’t simple hiding.
It was an advanced technique that allowed them to blend seamlessly into the shadows—
To the point where even the sharpest eyes could barely perceive them.
At night, with their pitch-black skin?
They were practically invisible.
Yet—
Where the hell was Dian?
Just a second ago, he had been right there.
But now, the spot where he had stood was empty.
"(What are you doing over there?)"
Drebren flinched and jerked backward.
The voice had come from right beside him.
Dian was standing there.
But… how?
Drebren was sure he had vanished.
How had he been found?
"(The smell of fried chicken.)"
Dian smirked as he pointed at Drebren’s chest.
There, stuck to his clothes, was a tiny, greasy crumb of fried batter.
…Had he tracked them by scent?
Wait.
The fried chicken from earlier—
Had he thrown it on purpose…?
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[Translator - Peptobismol]
[Proofreader - Demon God]
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