The Elf

Midnight.

The snow fell thicker, blanketing the roofs and streets of Frostmoon Town in a fresh layer of white.

A northern wind swept across the town's rooftops with a low howl, lightly swaying the tin sign hanging outside the inn.

The inn's windows had long gone dark. The hall, bustling by day, was now submerged in darkness as most travelers were sound asleep.

Three dark figures trod through ankle-deep snow, moving swiftly against the shadows of the inn's outer wall under the cover of the howling wind.

One crouched at the corner of the outer wall, interlocking his hands to make a human step. The others took turns stepping up, grabbing the edge of the second-floor windowsill, and nimbly flipping onto the inn's roof.

A thin layer of snow covered the roof tiles, muffling most of their footfalls, while the whistling wind skillfully covered the rest.

Then, the man below leaped, caught by a pulling hand from above, and joined them on the roof.

Hunched over on the snow-covered roof, the three crept silently toward a row of windows near the corner of the second floor, stopping in front of one.

The window was an old-fashioned wooden louver shutter, shut tight against the winter night, without a sliver of light filtering through the slats.

The lead figure signaled, and the other two immediately fanned out to keep watch. The leader pulled a small jar from a leather pouch at his waist.

He uncorked the wooden stopper and aligned the mouth of the jar with the gap in the shutter, preparing to pour the liquid inside through the slats.

But before he could even tilt the jar,

the tightly shut shutter was suddenly slammed open from within. The blow was so violent and sudden that the wooden shutter slammed hard against the intruder's wrist.

Taken completely off guard, the intruder lost his grip on the earthenware jar. It flipped upside down, splashing its liquid contents squarely across his own face.

His vision instantly blurred, and his body toppled backward, sliding right off the edge of the second-floor roof.

“Thud!”

A dull thud of flesh hitting ground echoed from below, sounding exceptionally clear in the quiet snow-filled night.

Rosie stood behind the thrown-open window, half her face exposed to the freezing night wind.

She wore her newly bought brigandine armor, her sword and daggers all equipped, her backpack placed within easy reach, while her voluminous cloak hung inside the room.

The two dark figures outside froze for a moment.

The sound of their companion falling and the sudden opening of the window left them momentarily stunned.

But they quickly snapped out of it, exchanged glances, and drew short blades from their waists, lunging toward the window from left and right almost simultaneously.

Rosie reached down to her waist and flicked her wrist.

With a sharp whistle, the dagger streaked through the night like a flash of cold light, sinking straight into the throat of the dark figure lunging from the left.

The man stumbled half a step forward before clutching his neck with both hands and pitching off the roof, landing below with a thump even heavier than the first.

The remaining intruder immediately abandoned his attack, turning to flee.

But he had taken only two steps before Rosie's second dagger caught up with him.

The dagger sank deep into his back, leaving only the hilt sticking out.

“Ugh—!”

The figure let out a brief grunt of agony, his steps immediately stumbling, but survival instinct drove him to keep running forward.

A third flash of cold light flew from Rosie's hand, pinning itself accurately into the back of his neck.

The snowstorm swallowed his scream as he tumbled off the roof, hitting the snow below and twitching twice before going completely still.

Rosie slung her backpack over her shoulder, glanced at her cloak, and decided to leave it.

Placing a hand on the sill, she vaulted nimbly downward, alighting briefly on the lower ledge to cushion her momentum before leaping into the snow, landing with a soft crunch.

The three men in black lay motionless in the snow outside the inn.

Dark red fluid trickled from the necks of two of them.

Lights flickered awake in the second-floor windows one after another. Several patrons pushed open their shutters to peer outside, sending down a flurry of confused shouts and exclamations.

“What was that noise outside?”

“What happened?”

Rosie hurried forward, swiftly pulling her daggers from the corpses. Without even pausing to wipe off the blood, she grabbed the first unfortunate thug by the collar, turned, and ducked into a side alley beside the inn.

Just as she rounded the corner, the inn's front door creaked open. The landlady poked her head out with a lantern, illuminating the snow-covered ground before letting out a sharp gasp.

Voices began shouting back and forth, but the commotion faded into the distance behind Rosie.

Weaving through several alleys while hauling the unconscious man, she soon arrived at an abandoned salvage yard on the edge of town and dumped him onto the ground.

The man hit the snow with a muffled groan, but remained unconscious.

Rosie squatted down and ripped away the black mask from his face, revealing a vaguely familiar set of features.

It was the very thug she had slapped in the tavern earlier that day.

She scooped up a handful of snow and slapped it hard against his face.

The icy shock made his body shudder violently. His eyelids fluttered before snapping open.

Before his mind could fully clear, a fist hurtled straight toward his face.

“Bam!”

The heavy impact slammed his head to the side. A mouthful of bloody spit erupted from his mouth, accompanied by a few white teeth landing on the snow.

“Speak. Why did you come to attack me?” Rosie's voice was ice-cold.

Now wide awake, the man clutched his mouth, his voice slurred and panicked. “Don't—don't hit me anymore... We... we just wanted revenge for making us lose face earlier today... Really, that's all...”

“Revenge?”

Rosie sneered and slammed a fist into his other cheek.

“Costing me a good night's sleep...”

Down came another punch.

“Making me come out here and freeze in the middle of the night...”

“Making me leave behind the expensive cloak I just bought...”

With every curse, she threw another punch.

Each blow landed hard and fast against his flesh.

She beat him so relentlessly he couldn't even scream, managing only muffled, choked whimpers from deep in his throat.

A moment later, Rosie stopped, shaking the blood from her glove. Looking down at him, she said, “Tell the truth.”

The man's face had swollen like a bloated pig.

Both cheeks were swollen out of shape, blood seeped from his nose and mouth, and his eyes were squeezed into narrow slits.

Seeing Rosie raise her fist once more, he winced instinctively and squeezed out through his swollen lips:

“Don't hit me anymore! I... I was just following orders for money... Baron Rhodes had us capture lone women from out of town... Day—daytime was just to test if you were alone.”

Rosie's brows furrowed slightly. “Is that true?”

The man nodded furiously. “It's true, I swear... I'm not lying to you...”

“Why is Baron Rhodes doing this?” Rosie pressed.

His eyes flickered, as if remembering something, and he blurted out quickly, “I don't know the exact reason... B-but I heard that the captured women were all secretly shipped away.”

“Shipped where?”

A voice echoed from the deep shadows of the yard, interrupting Rosie before she could ask another question.

Rosie whipped around, her right hand instantly resting on her sword hilt. “Who's there? Show yourself.”

A figure slowly stepped out from the shadowed corner of the yard, as though she had been part of the darkness all along.

As she reached the edge of the faint light reflected off the snow, the robed figure raised a hand and slowly pulled back her hood.

The dim starlight was too weak to illuminate her features fully, but the pale glow reflecting off the snow clearly outlined her face.

Her features were exquisitely chiseled, like sculpted ice, while long, pointed ears peeked out from beneath her green hair.

“It's you?”

Rosie recognized the figure's attire—it was the person who had warned her that evening. She just hadn't expected the stranger to be an elf. A female elf.

“It seems you heeded my warning,” the female elf said.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Rosie replied.

The elf gave a faint nod, then turned her gaze to the trembling man on the snow, repeating the question in an airy, calm voice:

“Where were they shipped to?”

The man looked at the sword at Rosie's waist, then at the elf emerging from the shadows, his voice breaking into a tearful whine:

“I... I really don't know... I'm just a nobody running errands... The Baron—the Baron definitely knows... He knows everything...”

The female elf nodded slightly, as if having obtained the answer she wanted.

Then, with a flick of her slender wrist, a fingernail-sized dark green object held between two fingers flicked straight into the captive's open mouth.

The man's body instantly froze.

His eyes bulged outward, his mouth stretched wide, and a choked sound squeezed from his throat as though something was rapidly expanding inside his esophagus.

Then, tiny emerald-green vines and shoots began sprouting from the corners of his mouth, nostrils, and ears.

The vines grew and spread at a visible pace, wrapping around his limbs, torso, and neck like living ropes, quickly encasing him in a green cocoon.

The plant-wrapped cocoon slowly sank into the dirt beneath the snow, leaving behind only a solitary vine with a few tender leaves swaying gently in the cold wind.

Throughout the entire process, the captive couldn't even let out a single scream.

Silence returned to the salvage yard.

Only the vine on the ground and a few teeth remained to prove a living person had been there moments ago.

“You don't mind that I disposed of this scum, do you?”

The female elf's voice remained as pleasant as a clear spring, no different than before she had taken a life.

Rosie shrugged. “Of course not. If you hadn't killed him, I would have anyway.”

The elf nodded, gazing quietly at Rosie with clear eyes unruffled by any emotion. “They tried to kidnap you. Don't you want to get revenge?”

“No. Revenge just leads to more revenge.”

Rosie answered without hesitation.

“Besides, the guys who tried to kidnap me are already dead.”

She wasn't stupid; the elf clearly wanted to use her as a cat's-paw.

The elf fell silent for a moment, her cool gaze lingering on Rosie's face for a long while.

Snow fell softly between them, silently piling up on the ground.

Then the female elf spoke: “You're an adventurer, aren't you? I have a commission I'd like your help with.”

She tilted her head slightly, her pointed ears twitching faintly in the night breeze.

“As for the reward, it won't disappoint you.”