After being led into a room in an ultra-luxurious mansion—slightly aged, yet meticulously maintained—Avery held out both hands, and the Elves who had passed out after losing half their vitality to Salama began to stir.
Seating Torla on a sofa, Avery struck him across the cheek, scolding him with a fury unimaginable given her usually gentle demeanor. The charges against him were clear: raising a hand against women and children, and unleashing a contract spirit over what was nothing more than a children's spat. Worst of all, even knowing they would quickly heal, he had been willing to sacrifice his own kin.
I fully expected him to offer some selfish defense and claim he was in the right, but throughout the ordeal, Torla did nothing but utter apologies without a single word of protest. His completely broken demeanor was clearly out of character, leaving everyone in the room—starting with Avery's attendant, Gastalt—thoroughly bewildered.
"I was wrong! Please forgive me!"
Torla pressed his forehead against the floor before me, the revived Ket, and the young Elf girl he had struck, desperately pleading for forgiveness. Even Avery's eyes widened in surprise; Torla was clearly not the kind of person who would ever bow like this under normal circumstances.
"May I ask one thing? Why go to such lengths for our sake?"
To Ket, who had not witnessed the black-haired boy in action, Torla's behavior must have seemed utterly bizarre. But having been present, I could easily understand the reason behind his transformation.
Torla had undoubtedly realized, with absolute certainty, that every single word the black-haired boy spoke was the unvarnished truth.
"Because if we fight him... it's the end of Lorelei."
Torla squeezed the words out, his hands trembling against the floorboards.
He was right. If Torla had spun a web of lies to his father, the Prime Minister, or to his aunt Avery and succeeded in turning them against that black-haired boy, the only future awaiting them would be total ruin.
In the first place, there was no way a mere mortal could unilaterally dismantle a spirit like that. In all likelihood, that boy was a god, just like Ares. And if he was a god, his power would be immense even if he were only a lesser god—existing on a plane entirely separate from mere Demon Kings or Heroes.
Against a god, catastrophic casualties were inevitable, even for Elves hailed as the pinnacle of the Human Race. The toll in lives would be astronomical. Torla's terror was more than justified. Even so, one thing still didn't make sense to me: why had he apologized to us?
All the black-haired boy had demanded was clarity on whether the Lorelei Nation intended to make an enemy of him. An apology to us was entirely unnecessary. Just as I was about to voice my confusion—
"Torla, are you implying our nation would lose to a mere boy?"
An elderly Elf dressed in the robes of a dignitary pressed him, but—
"It doesn't matter who fights him, nobody can win. If that person becomes our enemy..."
Torla merely muttered those words, trembling violently, and refused to speak another syllable.
Afterward, we received a formal apology from the reigning Queen of the Lorelei Nation, Avery Renren Lorelei, and were urged to make our way to the Tower's entrance ceremony.
Now, we were walking down the path toward the Tower.
"Lord Ares, what faction could that black-haired boy possibly belong to?"
Ket voiced the very question churning in my own mind.
"Hmm... I suspect he is either a local deity of this world or, judging by his manner, a god serving under a renowned War God. With that fierce temperament, he might even share a connection with Lord Indra..."
One of the Six Heavenly Gods, the hero god Lord Indra. Though rough-mannered, he was an emotional Chief God who would share a laugh beside his comrades one moment and weep over the suffering of others the next. That boy's actions—driven entirely by his own unyielding convictions of justice—and the distinct aura about him were unmistakably reminiscent of Lord Indra.
"A god serving that Great One, here in this land?"
"It is merely my speculation. However, I can say with absolute certainty that he is not aligned with pure evil."
Granted, his immediate actions were the very picture of villainy. But even that was a trait he shared with Lord Indra.
"Do you believe he could become our enemy?"
"He will not."
For some reason, the answer came to me with effortless certainty.
"Why is that? If he happens to serve Lord Thanatos, or perhaps that monstrous fly—"
"There is no need to worry. So long as we do not stain our hands with wickedness, he will bring no harm upon us."
Hearing my utterly baseless reassurance, Ket merely replied,
"I see."
With that, Ket let the matter rest.
Indeed. Looking back, I believe I already sensed something akin to fate in my encounter with that black-haired boy. And very soon, I would come to realize, from the absolute depths of my heart, just how profoundly right that intuition had been.