The Regressed Son of a Duke is an Assassin chapter 181

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The Regressed Son of a Duke is an Assassin

Chapter 181: The Protected by the Gods (2)

Her hair was as pristine as fresh snow and her skin smooth as if bathed in milk.

The unblemished blue eyes were the epitome of innocence.

There was a considerable mix of curiosity and fear trembling in her eyes.

At first glance, she might seem a bit strange, yet she was undeniably beautiful—until you saw the eerie ears hidden beneath her long hair, that is.

She was, in fact, a White Elf.

Informal cordialities aside, I had replied to her mental communication—only to find no answer forthcoming.

She remained silent, eyes wide and pure.

“Why don’t you speak? Did you not hear me?” I questioned.

“I-I’m sorry! It’s my first time conversing with a human using mental communication,” she apologized hastily within my mind, explaining that she could not speak aloud at present, and as such, our conversation must remain mental. She bowed repeatedly in apology.

Unable to speak? Had she been afflicted by some spell of muteness?

Ceyram mentioned she was under divine protection, but to my eyes, she appeared unremarkable. There was no magical aura that stood out to me, or any divine power similar to my own.

Why would a woman reportedly under the gods’ guardianship be kidnapped by mere thugs?

As more questions arose, she spoke again.

“Are you… the one who saved me?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not here to rescue you. Just answer what I ask.”

She nodded meekly, her hands neatly clasped together. Prior to her awakening, I had already interrogated the thugs escorting her, but they had revealed nothing of note. They had simply been ordered to transfer her from an undisclosed location to another—none other than the capital of the Garam Kingdom, ‘Ghaul’.

The situation was complex, to say the least.

“Why were you kidnapped by the Imperial Knights?”

“Imperial Knights?” Her wide-eyed response seemed to indicate unfamiliarity with the term itself.

She explained she was not from these lands—rather, she belonged to the White Elf tribe of the northern continent, Fruina. Once isolated from human affairs, they now sought aid due to emerging perils. She mentioned a copiously renowned White Elf integrated within human society whom they had hoped to solicit.

A famous White Elf living among humans? This was something I never heard of in my prior life.

“Pardon my interruption,” she said as I mulled over this revelation, “But where is your intended destination?”

She replied it was ‘Ghaul’, the same as the kidnappers’ plans.

Undoubtedly, this coincidence could not be ignored—especially given the potential implications involving me.

She voiced her gratitude for my assistance and then hesitantly asked for further help to reach Ghaul.

“Come with me,” I responded abruptly.

Her eyes widened in surprise, then sparkled as she accepted the offer.

Yet there was one detail missing—a triviality, really—her name.

“Hastia,” she introduced herself breezily, a name to which I reacted with nothing more than a nonchalant nod.

Later, she caught me off guard by inquiring about my name, claiming it was disgraceful not to be known. Despite my reluctance, I gave in—Sian—a name unfamiliar on my tongue.

She acknowledged the unusual revelation with earnest gratitude.

* * *

“Hastia is missing?”

“Yes! The knights transporting her to Ghaul have vanished near Vito. We hesitated to search the area intensively due to the presence of Garam Magic Society members.”

“And what hinders their investigation? Our forces are capable of magic as well.”

The knight hesitated but eventually yielded to her determination, promising to deploy all available forces.

The woman, left alone, mused to herself how life’s challenges made existence interesting as she prayed before the statue.

* * *

In the chilly mountain night, Sian and Hastia find refuge inside a cave.

Despite Hastia’s familiarity with the cold of her homeland, the warmth of Sian’s cloak brings her a sense of comfort she hesitates to relinquish. Observing Sian’s methodical fire-making, she tentatively begins a discourse.

“You seem adept at healing magic… were you just passing by when you found me?” she inquired.

Sian offered no response, continuing his preparations with deliberate silence.

When she voiced another concern, a black-haired woman with crimson eyes suddenly made her presence known, teasing Sian for his lack of social grace. Hastia recognized her as the legendary demonic sword Ceyram who famously aided her people.

Sian, confused by this information, began to piece together the unlikely tale before Hastia’s lips were gently silenced by Ceyram’s cold finger. The threat issued was clear: silence could mean life.

(To be continued)

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