A sinister smile curled across Denzel's face as he took a deliberate step forward. His eyes locked with Kramas', brimming with calm fury.
"There is one thing I want," he said, voice low but sharp enough to silence the room. "I want Kramas to be convicted… and imprisoned."
The air itself froze.
"WHAT?!" Kramas roared, rising to his feet. His usually refined demeanor broke like cracked glass.
Gasps echoed throughout the throne room. Even King Vishorn looked stunned. To accuse an elder—his own advisor—of treason, even after saving his life, was a bold move. Maybe too bold.
Kramas saw the ripple of hesitation and seized it.
"So that's it, huh? This was your plan all along," he sneered. "I should've known no human would offer help without strings attached. Vile creatures, driven by greed and deceit. You've fooled us all with your silver tongues and poison!"
Denzel blinked. Then frowned. Not in fear, but in utter disbelief.
"I see," he said coolly. "So you still intend to play the innocent." He reached into his coat. "Then perhaps this evidence will do the talking for me."
At that moment, the grand doors of the throne room burst open.
"Father! Kramas is a traitor!" Princess Leah stormed in, followed by a troop of elite elven soldiers. Their weapons gleamed under the morning sun as they dragged in shackled orcs, their faces downcast.
The lead orc threw a heavy glance at Kramas—half hatred, half shame.
King Vishorn's heart skipped a beat. "Leah… what is the meaning of this?"
"Please, look," she said, approaching with a stack of documents. "These are records of secret transactions. Kramas has been supplying the orcs with weapons and intel for years. He planned everything, Father."
Reluctantly, Vishorn took the documents.
As he read, his hands began to tremble.
Kramas' handwriting. Kramas' signature. Kramas' seal. The betrayal was clear. Line after line tore open old wounds of trust.
"…Kramas…" Vishorn's voice cracked. "Why? I trusted you. You were my brother in arms."
The atmosphere turned heavy. Not with sadness—this was fury.
A glowing aura began to emanate from Vishorn's body, washing over the room like molten gold. Everyone froze. The legendary Kingly Aura—a manifestation of an elf monarch's true strength.
Kramas scoffed bitterly. "You left me no choice. You had allies. A daughter. A council. I had nothing. I spent years watching this kingdom grow soft under your rule. I planned to fix it… to make it strong. But then—these humans." He spat the word. "They ruined everything."
His purple eyes flared.
"Fine, then! Let me give you a parting gift before I go!"
Raising his hand, he summoned a massive wave of dark energy.
"[Enigma of Death]!"
A violent blast surged forward—but Vishorn didn't even flinch. With a mere flick of his wrist, the magic shattered midair and dispersed into harmless particles.
"I've grown soft and weak, have I?" Vishorn said coldly, stepping forward. "Then let me remind you—I chose peace. Not because I can't destroy, but because I know the weight of it."
In a blur of green light, Vishorn appeared in front of Kramas and slammed a glowing Aura Sphere into his right arm.
BOOM.
The explosion was muffled but devastating. Kramas fell to his knees, clutching the smoldering stump where his arm used to be, screaming in agony.
Vishorn turned away, not even sparing him another glance.
"Arrest and imprison every member of the Veleona House," he commanded. "But for Kramas… send him to Nirvana."
A shocked silence followed.
Even the most seasoned warriors in the room gasped. Nirvana. The Sleepless Death. A punishment reserved for only the most unforgivable criminals. The last elf sent there had nearly brought about the destruction of their world.
To be locked in Estaisas—a dimension of eternal consciousness, where pain and time were infinite—was a fate worse than death.
"…Father," Leah whispered. "Are you sure?"
"I am." Vishorn's voice was steely. "This betrayal cannot be forgiven."
And so it was done. Kramas, his remaining family, and the orcs were taken away. Kramas, bloodied and broken, screamed as he was dragged toward the spell circle that would hurl him into oblivion.
But Denzel didn't watch. He simply stood tall, arms crossed, glasses glinting.
That evening, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, a celebration broke loose across the kingdom. Lanterns floated into the sky. Music blared from crystal amplifiers. Fireworks danced in the night.
King Vishorn approached Denzel and Ryan, carrying a golden box.
"I cannot express my gratitude enough," he said. "You not only cured me, you saved our nation from collapse."
He opened the box, revealing a radiant gemstone pulsating with swirling elemental colors.
"The Elemental Gem… our most sacred treasure. I now entrust it to you."
"What?! But that's…" one elder gasped.
"I know what it is," Vishorn said firmly. "But these two deserve it more than anyone."
Denzel and Ryan bowed, uncharacteristically serious. "We're honored," they said in unison.
That night, the kingdom danced in joy—but Denzel slipped away, donning his mask again. There was still someone he had to speak to.
On the balcony of the palace, Princess Leah waited, staring at the moonlit sky. She turned as the familiar masked figure appeared.
"I still can't sense your presence… You really are something else."
"But you knew I'd come," Denzel said.
She chuckled. "I did."
"I came to thank you," he continued. "Without you, we wouldn't have succeeded."
"Don't flatter me. You helped me too." She grinned. "Besides, getting rid of that Kramas guy was satisfying."
They both laughed, watching the party from above.
"Do you hate parties?" he asked.
"They're too noisy," she replied.
"Same."
They shared a comfortable silence.
Then Leah spoke softly. "Hey… can I see your face now?"
Denzel stiffened. "I… I'd rather not."
But Leah wasn't having it. With a sudden move, she lunged forward and yanked off his mask.
She tripped, falling right into his chest.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Denzel's eyes met hers—warm, human eyes. No glamour. No disguise.
"You're… so cute," she blurted out before slapping her hand over her mouth. Her face turned beet red.
Denzel blinked. "I… uh…"
She scrambled off him, flustered. "Sorry! I didn't mean to—wait, are you a human?!"
"I am," he admitted. "That's why I hid it. I didn't know how you'd react."
Leah looked at him. Then smiled.
"I don't care. Race, bloodline—it means nothing to me. You can drop the formalities. Just call me Leah."
He nodded. "Okay… Leah. I'm Denzel."
Her eyes softened. "Nice to finally meet you… Denzel."
Their moment lingered, but the night was drawing to a close.
"I have to go," he said gently.
She looked away. "I figured."
He turned, mask in hand. "Thanks for everything, Leah."
She waved as he disappeared into the shadows. "See you again… I hope."
Denzel returned to town, where Ryan was—as expected—passed out drunk in a tavern, surrounded by a sea of flirtatious elf women.
"Drunkard," Denzel sighed, hauling him up. "Time to go."
"Lemme say goodbye…" Ryan slurred.
"Sorry, ladies. This idiot's got a world to get back to."
Outside, Denzel propped Ryan up and opened the system window:
Leave the 1st Floor?
[✓] Yes
[ ] No
With a final glance at the Elven Kingdom behind him, Denzel selected yes.
The screen flickered.
And with that—they vanished.
END OF CHAPTER