The arrogant High Elf could not accept his defeat, even at the very end.

It was not that I failed to understand how he felt. However sharp the Royal House of Leonberk's dragon-slaying sword might be, he must have thought a greenhorn who had not lived even a quarter of his years could never surpass him.

In truth, the being inside that greenhorn was a sword that had lived several times longer than this naive High Elf.

I did not bother telling him that. I merely snorted, mocking the arrogance of someone with nothing to boast of but his age.

After mocking him for a good while, I made my announcement.

"Well. The match is over. Now it is time to keep your promise."

The High Elf's eyes trembled as though shaken by an earthquake.

"My first demand."

Looking at him, I spoke.

"An apology."

His eyes widened at the unexpected words. He asked what he was to apologize for.

Instead of answering, I looked back. The poor Half-Elf stood there, watching me.

"Gunne."

I called her over to stand beside me, then exercised my rightful privilege as the victor.

"It is not me you must apologize to, but her."

Only then did Gunne realize what was happening. Flustered, she began signing.

A chance to demand something of a High Elf did not come easily. I should think ahead and ask for something that would prove useful for much longer.

"Whatever I ask for, nothing will stay in my memory longer than the rare sight of a High Elf apologizing to a Half-Elf."

Gunne started at my words and repeatedly tried to dissuade me. The High Elf glared at me, his face rigid.

"Are you telling me, a High Elf, to bow my head to a mere half-breed?"

"You understood perfectly."

"I cannot accept that."

"Make no mistake. This is not a request."

I reminded him of our pact.

"If you refuse, it will not be your paltry pride you lose, but the part of your soul you staked on the pact. If you are willing to pay that price, I will press you no further."

His face twisted in despair.

He whipped his head around and glared at the blameless Gunne, murderous intent pouring off him.

The sight of him bullying someone weaker after losing to me twice was utterly absurd. He did not even realize how much uglier he made himself look.

GRIND!

After glaring at Gunne for a long while, he ground his teeth.

"I sincerely hope that half-breed is important to you, Your Highness."

He added that he hoped she was worth earning a High Elf's enmity by inflicting an indelible humiliation upon him.

I did not so much as twitch an eyebrow at the blatant threat. I merely urged him on with a look.

Get on your knees and apologize already.

The High Elf lowered himself, disgust written across his face as though he were kneeling in filth.

THUD!

His knees, bending with excruciating slowness, finally touched the floor.

"I'm... sorry."

That mouth, which had prattled on as though its tongue were oiled, barely managed the few clumsy words.

I watched him for a moment, then unleashed my stature and ruthlessly pressed down on him. Unable to withstand my presence, he shrank from his awkward kneeling posture.

Now he looked unmistakably like someone prostrating himself in apology.

Gunne stared blankly at the sight. The emotions on her face were so complex that I could not presume to guess what she was thinking.

I could only hope, again and again, that this would ease even a little of her deep-rooted fear of High Elves, that it might offer some small recompense for the years she had spent as a slave.

She stood there for a long time with that complicated expression. I waited quietly, allowing her to savor the arrogant High Elf's humiliation to her heart's content.

He tried to rise several times in the meantime, but whenever he did, I pressed down harder with my stature and presence, forcing him still lower. Eventually, he abandoned his resistance and simply waited.

After quite some time, Gunne looked at me and nodded.

I could not know what she had felt or thought as she watched the High Elf. All that mattered was that her rigid body had relaxed and that the face she turned toward me was her usual one.

I reined in the stature and presence I had released. The instant the pressure lifted, he scrambled to his feet.

"Now for my next demand."

Looking at his face, as dry and lifeless as desert sand, I named my second demand.

"Nectar."

He had been looking at me as though he had already suffered enough humiliation not to care what else I demanded. Now his face hardened to stone again.

"Do you even know what that is..."

"Of course I do. Your kind call it the blessing of the forest, don't you?"

He growled at my words.

"Then you must also know how precious it is."

"I hear it is a blessing granted only once in a lifetime, even to your exalted High Elves."

"Do you think I would surrender such a thing?"

He looked ready to refuse even at the cost of damage to his stature.

"If you are willing to pay the price for breaking our pact, I will not stop you. But remember this."

I bared my teeth in a smile.

"If you do not surrender the Nectar, my next demand will be something you could never possibly fulfill."

To someone ignorant of a being's stature, those words might have sounded nonsensical. Their true meaning was a threat: I would deliberately damage his stature, so he had best be prepared.

Repeated breaches of a pact.

The price would be anything but light for so young a High Elf. His stature might be damaged so badly that he could no longer perform even the paltry Sword Dance he had shown me. No—in all likelihood, that was exactly what would happen.

His face contorted miserably. Accept, and he would be giving away a spare life for nothing. Refuse, and his vaunted stature would be damaged.

As he stood trapped between the two, chewing over his anguish, I decided to offer him a small kindness.

"If you surrender the Nectar, I promise my third demand will be relatively easy."

It was such a small kindness that he might not even recognize it as one.

He agonized over it for a good while longer. I leisurely enjoyed the ever-changing color of his face.

"Whew."

The High Elf sighed, then rummaged inside his clothes and held out a little silver vial.

It was no bigger than a little finger.

My eyes widened. The material of that vial was not something one often saw in this world.

A rare metal said to rival dragon bone in hardness, a mere handful of which could make a peerless sword for the ages—the metal every blacksmith in the world longed to possess.

It was the treasure called the true silver among silvers.

I all but snatched the Nectar from his hand and stroked the silver vial over and over.

There was no mistaking it. True silver.

I laughed. I had demanded an elixir that could snatch a life back from death, and unexpectedly received true silver as a bonus.

Where else would I ever find such a windfall?

After laughing for a long while with the true silver in my hand, I finally tucked it away.

Deep inside my clothes.

It would be a disaster if the High Elf asked for the vial back. I had demanded Nectar; I had no grounds to refuse him.

Fortunately, the High Elf I had robbed of his Nectar did not seem to have the presence of mind for that. He merely stood there, looking as though he had lost everything.

"What is your third demand?"

Only after a long while did he ask about my final demand.

"I will tell you once I have given it a little more thought."

Rather than answer immediately, I put it off until later.

The High Elf sighed in relief. He seemed grateful that his unbearable misfortune had ended here.

But once he recovered his wits, he would realize it was better to get a beating over with.

I had not withheld my third demand out of pity for his plight. I simply wanted him to fret and tremble with anxiety, never knowing what I would ask for next.

The pact would only be fulfilled after he had suffered enough.

"I will send someone once I have thought of it. You may go for today."

At that, the High Elf fled.

His pride gone. His Nectar gone. Even his true silver gone.

It was a truly pitiful exit.

* * *

With the Nectar in hand, I went straight to the king's bedchamber.

"I heard there was a commotion at your palace. I was just about to go and see."

Ignoring his words, I strode toward him. Disregarding his questioning gaze as well, I reached out with lightning speed.

"What do you think you are doing!"

The king belatedly tried to resist, but by then I had already opened his outer garment and undone all his bandages, leaving his wounds fully exposed.

A low groan escaped me at the wounds finally laid bare.

Skin made hideous by rot and festering sores. A crudely stitched hole. Something black and rotten glimpsed between the stitches.

Wounds so appalling that words failed me.

"You came all the way to the capital in this condition?"

After staring at his wounds for a long time, I forced out the question.

"You intended to endure another four months like this?"

The king did not answer. He merely sighed.

I did not wait for an answer either.

"In three days, I will treat your wounds, Your Majesty. Until then, make sure you rest enough for your body to withstand the treatment."

Only then did the king speak.

"So you managed to obtain that elixir."

"I was lucky."

"If a little luck were enough to obtain it, it would hardly be called a treasure. You must have gone to considerable trouble."

In truth, I had just extorted it from a naive High Elf, but I did not bother mentioning that under the circumstances.

"That effort must not be spent on me."

The king spoke calmly as he looked at me.

"Even if I take the greatest elixir in history, will it give me another hundred years? Another fifty? It is all pointless."

"It is not pointless. What does it matter if it is ten years, or even just one?"

As the king tried to speak again, I said emphatically,

"Even if you live only one more day, live and die as the King of Leonberk, not as a wretched invalid."

The king started and closed his mouth.

I looked at him for a moment, then left his bedchamber. From there, I went straight to the royal physician and instructed him to restore as much of the king's strength as possible over the next three days.

Three days passed.

I returned to the king's bedchamber. He was deeply asleep after taking the medicinal draught the royal physician had prepared on my instructions.

I removed his upper garments and unwound the bandages. In those three days, his wounds had grown worse still.

After looking at the hideous wounds, I took the strips of cloth I had prepared from inside my clothes and bound his limbs to the corners of the bed.

Then I took out the Nectar and opened its cap.

The instant the cap came off, an exquisite fragrance flooded the room. It was so sweet that I swallowed involuntarily, my mouth watering.

Then I abruptly came to my senses and felt relieved.

I could say with certainty that if the High Elf had ever opened the cap and smelled this even once, he would never have handed over the Nectar. He would have chosen to lose his stature instead.

That was how dangerously alluring its fragrance was. Enough to tempt even me.

Of course, I still found the true silver vial more attractive than the Nectar itself.

Once I collected myself, I realized the stench of death that had filled the room had vanished as though it had never existed.

I took a few deep breaths, then tilted the vial. Half the elixir poured over his wounds.

The king's eyes flew open. His gaze, clouded by the anesthetic the royal physician had prescribed, turned briefly toward me.

Then his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Aaargh!"

A scream burst from his mouth—a dreadful, unearthly shriek.

I stuffed the wad of cloth I had prepared into his mouth.

"It will be over soon! Bear with it just a little longer!"

With one hand, I pinned down his thrashing body. I placed the other against his chest.

Mana rose from my heart, raced through my shoulder to my fingertips, and entered the king's body.

I felt the tremendous power of the Nectar rampaging through him. I forcibly seized that energy as it thrashed in every direction.

And I guided it.

Along the very path a certain country boy had walked four hundred years ago.