Chapter 428

When Zeon stared fixedly at the elf woman, Uslan’s gaze naturally followed.

The corner of Uslan’s lips curled faintly.

So you’re a man after all? Seems your heart stirs at the sight of a beautiful elf.

To his eyes, Zeon looked as though he had been bewitched, entranced by her beauty.

And yes—she was beautiful.

More beautiful than any elf Zeon had ever seen. But that was not why his eyes lingered on her.

It was the strange aura she carried.

A pricking sensation, like invisible needles against his skin.

The elf woman must have sensed his gaze. She lifted her head, meeting his eyes. Her gray pupils gleamed more sharply.

Zeon frowned.

Ordinarily, he could read something of a person from their eyes. But hers revealed nothing.

It was as if an unseen veil hung over them.

He stopped walking, watching her closely.

At his side, Aronia poked his ribs and whispered.

“Is she your type?”

“No.”

“No need to deny it. A man liking a pretty woman isn’t a crime.”

“I said, it’s not that.”

“Embarrassed? If you like her, why not go and talk to her?”

“Sigh…”

Zeon gave up arguing and exhaled.

To insist further would only make him look foolish.

At that moment, someone rose from among the caravan.

“Oh! Captain Uslan, is that you?”

It was Hodran, leader of the caravan.

Uslan recognized him at once.

“So this is Hodran’s caravan.”

“Yes. We’re on the way back to El Harun. Good to see you, Captain Uslan.”

“And you as well, Lord Hodran.”

They exchanged greetings warmly.

Not close friends, but familiar enough to speak when paths crossed.

Hodran smiled.

“Have you eaten? Why not join us?”

“Wouldn’t that be imposing?”

“Not at all. We’ve plenty prepared. All you need do is sit.”

“Then I’ll accept.”

“Haha! Please, sit.”

With booming laughter, Hodran gestured him down.

Uslan no longer refused, taking a seat beside him. Jupiro and the rest followed, settling among the caravan folk.

Then Hodran’s eyes turned to Zeon.

“And who might this be? I don’t recall seeing him before.”

“He is a guest I’ve invited.”

“A human?”

At that word, Hodran’s eyes gleamed.

He knew well how rare it was for a human outsider to be admitted toward El Harun.

Any human worthy of Uslan’s invitation could not be ordinary.

He bowed slightly.

“I am Hodran, leader of El Harun’s caravan. Might I ask your name?”

“Zeon.”

“…Zeon?”

Hodran tilted his head.

The name struck some faint memory, though he could not place it.

He let it go. There were many with similar names.

He gestured to the seat beside the elf woman.

“Zeon, please join us.”

Zeon did not refuse.

“Thank you.”

He sat.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

Hodran signaled, and food was brought.

Not much—just a strange porridge. But it was what the caravan ate, and Zeon saw no reason to refuse.

He lifted his spoon.

“My thanks.”

A bite, and he nodded.

A little meat mixed in, surprisingly good.

Not bad.

He continued eating.

Then he felt it—eyes on him.

From the elf woman at his side.

He set his spoon down, looking back.

She asked,

“Good?”

“For a dish like this, it’s quite good.”

“I see.”

“And you? Didn’t you find it tasty?”

“I did.”

“I’m Zeon. And you?”

“Neria.”

“Pleased to meet you, Neria.”

“And I you, Zeon.”

Her words carried no warmth.

Like the voice of a doll without a soul.

That was how her face struck him—pretty, but curiously hollow.

“Are you part of the caravan too, Neria?”

“No.”

“…No?”

“I just met them by chance in the desert. Traveling together.”

“By chance?”

“Yes.”

She blinked innocently, as if nothing were odd.

But Zeon felt a powerful discord.

Her eyes, her face, her words—they don’t match at all.

Ordinary people carried emotion in their expressions. Even those skilled at masking could not hide it from their eyes.

But in Neria, all three moved separately.

She blinked like a child, her face frozen, her words polite—while her eyes shone cold as ice.

Like someone imitating emotions without possessing them.

Neria tilted her head under his piercing gaze.

“What? Strange?”

“No. Only… you’re not of El Harun, then?”

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

“My village.”

“And?”

“Gone. Erased without a trace.”

“By a beast attack?”

“By something worse.”

“Something worse?”

“Yes.”

Her calm reply made Zeon’s face tighten.

Then she asked,

“And you, Zeon? You’re not of El Harun either, right?”

“Neo Seoul.”

“There’s such a place?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Far away.”

“How far?”

“More than a month’s journey on foot.”

“That’s not so far.”

“To you, perhaps. To me, it is.”

“Really? Then let’s say it is.”

She smiled faintly.

A smile still out of place.

And then—

“Neria. For one as noble as you, speaking so freely with a human… it is not fitting.”

Corin’s voice cut between them.

Neria blinked in puzzlement.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that. A noble, beautiful elf like yourself need not lower yourself to talk with a human.”

“Humans are… lower?”

“El… Harun’s humans are an exception. But most, yes.”

He added that last only out of deference to Uslan.

Even so, Uslan’s face cracked.

Corin had gone too far.

To insult humanity as a whole—

“You bastard…”

“Damn you.”

Jupiro and Alonso surged up, rage boiling after so long suppressed.

But they were not the first to act.

Zeon was.

Thwack!

His hand shot out, seizing Corin’s nape.

“Khk! You—!”

Caught before he could react, Corin flushed red with shame.

Zeon spoke coldly, hand unyielding.

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“Let go, bastard!”

“Apologize first.”

“You damn—!”

Corin struggled, clawing at Zeon’s grip.

But Zeon’s hand did not budge. Like steel clamped to his neck.

Corin spat through clenched teeth.

“Let go—or die!”

“Apologize first.”

“Shit!”

He reached for his blade—only for Zeon’s other hand to catch and block it before it left the sheath.

Eyes rolling, Corin looked to Uslan.

“Captain! You’ll just stand there?”

“You ask me for help?”

“I’m your man!”

“And also the human you scorn.”

“Damn it—!”

Crk—!

Corin’s head bent lower under Zeon’s crushing strength.

In another moment, he would look as though bowing in apology.

His pride howled in protest.

“Shaping! Dempleton!”

“Damn it!”

“Release him, human!”

The two lunged.

They dared not draw weapons under Uslan’s eye, but fists—they thought safe.

They were wrong.

Crack! Thud!

Zeon’s leg lashed like a whip, slamming both in the temple without releasing Corin.

Their minds reeled. Dempleton staggered, almost collapsing.

Shaping, hit hard, transformed into his wolf form by reflex.

He howled, claw slashing.

“Raaaagh! I’ll kill you!”

Smash!

Zeon’s knee crashed into his face.

Shaping fell to one knee, groaning.

Crack!

Another knee strike to his jaw.

Still Zeon held Corin down, hammering Shaping with one leg.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The blows rang out, relentless, all to the same spot.

Even a werewolf, with monstrous endurance and healing, could not withstand it.

Soon, Shaping’s body collapsed, consciousness gone.

Gasps filled the air.

None could believe what they saw.

A werewolf, felled unconscious by brute force alone.

Silence.

Even Uslan’s jaw moved soundlessly.

He had thought Zeon merely a gifted mage.

But this—this strength exceeded reason.

Cold sweat slid down Corin’s back as Zeon’s grip tightened.

‘Madman…’

And then Zeon’s voice came, quiet but sharp.

“Apologize… still not going to?”