Paliv, still reeling from the utter betrayal of everything she thought she knew about dark elves, was gripping the sides of her head like she was about to start screaming. "Also, Kum, stop trying to fuck my brother!"
From the toilet, Shotaro's weak voice echoed out, strained but corrective. "Adopted."
Kum Slet, utterly unbothered, let out a low, sultry chuckle, adjusting her robes just enough to feign innocence while still making Fa Git want to fling himself into the nearest gorge. "Oh, come now, little princess," she purred, stretching her long, lithe limbs like a lounging panther basking in the sun. "Is it my fault your brother—adopted—happens to be a fine specimen of a man?"
Fa Git, barely clinging to his sanity, groaned into his hands. "Mother. Please."
Paliv shot her a look of pure disgust. "He just crawled out of some godforsaken void, looking like he barely survived a divine punishment. He is literally clinging to life!"
Kum Slet waved a lazy hand, dismissing the argument with a flick of her fingers, her deep violet nails gleaming in the dim lighting. "And? A strong man, fresh out of battle, vulnerable, sweating, muscles tense from exhaustion—"
"OH MY GOD, STOP." Fa Git slammed his head against the wall.
Shotaro, still inside the toilet, was having none of it. "Can you all not while I'm trying to take the most important shit of my life?"
The mood should have shifted. This should have been a wake-up call. But no. Kum Slet merely chuckled, resting her chin against her palm, elbow propped lazily against the wooden table as she gave the bathroom door an approving glance. "Mmm. Good lungs on that one."
Fa Git's eye twitched violently as a horrifying realization began to claw its way into his brain like a parasitic worm.
If—if—his mother somehow succeeded in her blatant, shameless attempts to seduce Shotaro… then… then wouldn't that make Shotaro his stepfather?
His stomach twisted into knots. That would also mean… Paliv—the same imperial elf girl he had been crushing on despite her being a racist little shit—would be his step-aunt.
No.
No, no, no.
That was unacceptable. That was worse than death. That was a fate beyond human comprehension.
His hands clenched into fists. He had to stop this. No matter what.
Meanwhile, Kum Slet, utterly oblivious to her son's silent, screaming crisis, let her robe slide ever so slightly off her shoulder, exposing smooth, dark skin that caught the candlelight just enough to be distracting. "Well, it's been years since I had a man," she murmured, her voice like honey, dripping slow and sweet.
Fa Git slammed his fist against the wall, veins popping on his forehead. "Mother, I will personally throw you into the river."
Kum Slet, utterly unfazed, merely stretched her long limbs, arching her back just enough to accentuate her curves, her dark elven robe slipping scandalously down one arm. The fabric, sheer in places, clung to her figure in a way that was frankly criminal, emphasizing the hourglass shape of her body. "Oh, Fa, dear," she purred, her deep amethyst eyes twinkling with amusement. "I understand you're going through a phase, but don't block your mother's blessings."
"Phase?!" Fa Git wheezed, gripping his head. "This is not a phase; you are insane!"
Paliv, meanwhile, had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot, deep in thought. She stole a glance at the bathroom door, where Shotaro was still very much engaged in the battle of his life. "Back in Olive Dale, Shotaro didn't have this much effect on women," she muttered, narrowing her golden eyes. "Why here?"
Kum Slet smirked, tossing a stray lock of thick, dark purple hair over her shoulder. "Different beauty standards, obviously," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Paliv frowned. "What do you mean?"
Fa Git groaned. "Don't ask—"
"Oh, it's quite simple." Kum Slet leaned forward on the table, resting her chin on her palm, her cleavage conveniently pressing against the wooden surface. "Imperial elves like their men—hell, their people—fair-skinned, slim, and almost fragile-looking, regardless of gender. To you light elves, someone like Shotaro—tall, broad-shouldered, and built like he wrestles mountain trolls for breakfast—is, well, considered ugly in your homeland, isn't he?"
Paliv flinched slightly. "I—uh—well—"
"Meanwhile," Kum Slet continued, her smirk deepening, "we dark elven women have taste." She dragged a lazy finger down her exposed collarbone, as if lost in thought. "We prefer men. Tall. Muscular. Strong. Weathered. A bit of darkness to their skin, a bit of life in their presence. Not those waifish, ghostly-looking twigs you call 'ideal.'"
Paliv's jaw clenched. "Waifish?"
"You know," Kum Slet hummed, playfully swaying her legs under the table, "imperial elves tend to look like they'd snap in half if you so much as breathed on them the wrong way. And they do love their delicate little features, don't they? Fragile. Dainty. Almost androgynous."
Paliv, who had indeed grown up thinking that was the peak of attractiveness, felt personally attacked.
Fa Git, on the other hand, had both hands on his head, looking like he wanted to strangle himself. "I hate that this actually makes sense," he muttered. "I hate that you have a valid point."
"Oh, I always have valid points," Kum Slet cooed, rolling her shoulders, which just so happened to make her robe slip even lower.
Fa Git slammed his head against the wall this time. "Stop doing that!"
"Doing what, dear?"
"That!!"
Paliv, still somewhat recovering from the realization that her people's beauty standards weren't universal, clicked her tongue. "Okay, but that still doesn't explain why you—you specifically—are like this right now."
Kum Slet let out a mock gasp, placing a hand dramatically over her chest. "My, my, princess, do I detect jealousy in your tone?"
Paliv looked physically ill. "Over my brother? Adopted or not? Are you insane?!"
Kum Slet merely chuckled, propping an elbow on the table, her fingers idly tracing circles against her own shoulder. "Mmm, perhaps not jealousy, then. Just frustration. Understandable. After all, you are from Olive Dale. Your kind wouldn't know a real man if he punched you in the face."
Paliv's eye twitched so hard she nearly saw stars. "You—"
Shotaro, finally emerging from the toilet looking at least marginally less like he had just clawed his way out of the afterlife, adjusted his sword at his waist and exhaled. Then, with a knowing glance at Kum Slet—whose posture, expression, and very being radiated the kind of energy that made Fa Git want to fling himself into the sun—he sighed.
"Sorry, lady," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "I know what you're on about, but seriously, I'm not interested for now. I've got diplomacy to handle."
A lesser woman might have pouted, whined, or—heaven forbid—doubled down in some desperate, degrading attempt to seduce him. But Kum Slet, unlike those kinds of women, had something they didn't.
Self-respect.
She raised an elegant dark brow, letting out a soft, amused hum. Her deep violet robes, embroidered with silver thread in ancient dark elven patterns, shifted as she leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with an air of utter grace. Despite her flirtations, she was no fool—she understood rejection when she heard it, and she wasn't about to grovel for a man's attention like some pathetic, lovesick girl.
"Fair enough," she said smoothly, flicking a stray lock of violet-tinted hair over her shoulder. "A man with priorities is a rare thing these days."
Fa Git blinked, shocked at the sheer maturity of her response. He had been fully prepared to dig a hole and bury himself in it the moment she started getting desperate, but… she just accepted it? Just like that? No dramatics? No hysterics? No clinging to his sleeve like some weepy tavern wench?
Paliv, meanwhile, squinted at Kum Slet with deep suspicion. "You're actually backing off?"
Kum Slet shrugged, stretching her long, toned arms above her head, causing just the faintest, most subtle shift in her robes that still managed to make Fa Git break into a cold sweat. "What? Am I supposed to wail and throw myself at his feet?" She let out a deep, rich chuckle. "Please. I have standards, girl."
Shotaro, relieved that this particular crisis had resolved itself without further suffering, gave her a small nod of appreciation.
Kum Slet smirked, her full lips curving with amusement as she let her sharp, amethyst eyes roam over Shotaro one last time. "Don't mention it, big boy," she murmured, her voice velvety smooth.
Shotaro, wisely, said nothing.
Fa Git, meanwhile, felt the most profound, overwhelming sense of relief wash over him, like a man who had just narrowly avoided death by falling boulder. His knees nearly buckled, his soul practically left his body, and for the first time in his miserable, chaotic life, he genuinely considered the existence of a merciful god.
Because holy shit.
Paliv was not going to be his step-aunt.
He wasn't going to have to live with the knowledge that the one imperial elf girl who simultaneously enraged him, humiliated him, and made his stupid dark elven heart beat faster was going to be related to him by marriage.
No step-aunt. No horrifying family tree developments.
Just pure, unfiltered freedom.
"Thank God," he breathed, nearly collapsing.
Kum Slet, completely unaware of her son's spiritual rebirth, stretched her long, sculpted arms above her head, causing the already loose neckline of her deep violet robes to shift just slightly—just enough to make Fa Git want to scream. The flowing fabric, embroidered with silver thread in intricate dark elven patterns, clung in all the right places yet draped just loosely enough to suggest more than it revealed. She was, for all intents and purposes, the embodiment of a seasoned, elegant widow who knew exactly how much power she held but wasn't about to beg for scraps.
It made her rejection of Shotaro all the more terrifyingly dignified.
Paliv, however, still looked suspicious, narrowing her golden eyes at Kum Slet as though expecting her to suddenly change her mind and pounce. "You're actually backing off?" she asked, arms crossed.
Kum Slet gave her a lazy, amused glance before shrugging. "What? Am I supposed to wail and throw myself at his feet?" She rolled her shoulders, the motion causing her robes to shift just enough to remind everyone in the room that she had curves and knew how to use them. "Please. I have standards, girl."
Fa Git wanted to die. Not out of shame—no, this was something deeper. Something cosmic.
He had never been so grateful for his mother's sheer, unshakable pride.
Shotaro, visibly relieved that this particular ordeal had come to an end without anyone needing to be exorcised, nodded. "Thanks."
Kum Slet smirked again. "Don't mention it, big boy."
Fa Git sent a silent prayer to whatever gods had orchestrated this miracle, his very soul basking in the divine mercy of not having Paliv as his step-aunt. He felt as if the universe itself had taken pity on him, granting him this one reprieve. For the first time in minutes, he could breathe again.
Somewhere, in the vast, ethereal expanse of the Weapon Domain, an ancient force stirred.
A black, featureless humanoid with piercing red eyes and a wide, knowing smile sat in the endless void, where weapons slumbered in waiting and swords whispered secrets only the worthy could hear.
Alakshmi, the soul residing within Shotaro's trusted katana, felt it—a shift in fate, a narrowing of possibilities. A name, once a potential rival, had quietly erased itself from the board.
Her expression, though unchanging, carried an undeniable air of satisfaction. The universe itself seemed to shimmer slightly, as if acknowledging a correction.
One less obstacle between her and Shotaro.
She did not hate Kum Slet. No, the dark elven woman had dignity, after all. She accepted her rejection with grace. But Alakshmi was not the type to share.
Not her wielder.Not her Shotaro.
A faint hum of amusement echoed through the void as she leaned back in her throne of polished steel and swirling crimson mist, twirling an illusory blade between her fingers.
"Smart woman," she mused.
Back in the physical world, Kum Slet—blissfully unaware that an ancient, possessive sword spirit had just crossed her off an enemy list—adjusted the sash of her robe, the deep violet fabric cascading around her as she moved with effortless grace. Still regal, still alluring, but now entirely uninterested. She had self-respect, after all. If a man wasn't interested, she wasn't about to throw herself at his feet like some desperate imperial elf.
Shotaro, having narrowly avoided one of the strangest courtship attempts of his life, let out a relieved sigh.
Paliv, still processing the sheer absurdity of what had just unfolded, shook her head in disbelief.
And Fa Git?
Fa Git just stood there, so goddamn grateful.
After a while
After a while, the tension in the room had mostly settled—mostly. Fa Git was still internally offering his deepest gratitude to every god, spirit, and cosmic force that had ensured Paliv would never become his step-aunt. Meanwhile, Shotaro, having finally gotten some water in his system and emptied his battle-hardened bowels, while Shotaro, now somewhat rejuvenated, had moved on to what he did best: making decisions that made everyone else question their sanity.
"The village must have elders," Shotaro asked, glancing at Kum Slet, who was now lounging comfortably, arms folded beneath her ample bosom, her robes draped elegantly over her curvaceous frame.
"Yeah," she replied, idly tapping a finger against her chin. "Most of the elders live in the heart of the village, the safest part of the tribe."
Shotaro exhaled. "Then I need to talk to them."
Paliv immediately frowned. "Shotaro, this is not a good move."
Shotaro tilted his head. "What's wrong with this plan?"
Fa Git looked just as exasperated. "She's right. You can't just walk into the middle of the market and declare yourself a diplomat from the imperial elf kingdom."
Paliv crossed her arms, her golden hair catching the dim firelight as she scoffed, "Look, even the soot skin gets it."
Fa Git twitched but let it slide. This time.
Shotaro rubbed the back of his neck, clearly weighing his options. "Then how do I approach them?"
Fa Git sighed. "The village elders and senior adults form an independent political body called a 'panchayat' in the tribe."
"Think of it like a council," Kum Slet added, watching Shotaro carefully. "One that has direct access to the sarpanch—the tribal chief."
Shotaro nodded slowly, taking in the information. "Alright. So I don't just barge in, I go through the proper channels."
Paliv pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes, Shotaro, you need to at least pretend to be civilized."
He shrugged. "Hey, I'm plenty civilized."
Kum Slet smirked. "Says the half-naked man who crawled out of a void portal and immediately collapsed on my floor."
Shotaro pointed at Kum Slet. "That was circumstantial."
Kum Slet smirked, stretching her long limbs with slow, feline amusement. "Oh, of course. Circumstances had you shirtless, unconscious, and drinking water like a dying beast. Very dignified."
Shotaro rolled his eyes, but Fa Git could only sigh. He had a sinking feeling that this was just the beginning of the madness.
But then Shotaro, as always, managed to escalate things further.
"I think I might need his help," he mused, stroking his chin.
"Whose help?" Paliv asked, her suspicion immediate.
Shotaro cracked his neck. "You'll see."
Then, without any further warning, he threw his head back and bellowed at the sky:
"HALASAR! COME OUT!"
For a moment, there was silence. Then, as if answering an ancient summoning rite, the very air seemed to shift. A faint ripple, an unseen pressure. And then—he appeared.
From seemingly nowhere, a small, hunched figure materialized. He was an elf, but unlike any elf the younger generations had ever seen. His frame was diminutive, but his presence loomed large. A vast, flowing beard cascaded down his chest like a river of silver, tangled with beads and charms of forgotten eras. His ancient robes were tattered at the edges, yet woven with intricate patterns that shimmered with old magic. His eyes—deep, knowing, filled with the weight of ages—settled upon Shotaro with a glint of familiarity.
And then, in a voice as hoarse as it was amused, he rasped, "Shotaro, my boy! It's been far too long!"
Paliv's blood ran cold.
"H—Halasar?!" she choked, her usual composure shattering in an instant. "The oldest elf alive? The elven guru himself?!"
Kum Slet arched an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued now. "Oh? Didn't take you for someone who kept company with legends, Shotaro."
Fa Git, meanwhile, looked like his entire perception of reality had just been flipped upside down. "You—You know Halasar?!"
Shotaro simply smirked. "What? You didn't think I had connections?"
Paliv was still struggling to process it. Halasar wasn't just some respected elder—he was a walking relic, a being of history itself. He had lived through ages, witnessed the rise and fall of entire civilizations. Elves spoke of him in reverence, in whispers, as if he were more myth than man.
And yet, here he was.
Paliv's eye twitched.
Of course. Of fucking course. Shotaro, a literal nobody from another world, had just casually summoned one of the oldest and most revered elves in existence like he was calling for a drinking buddy.
She swallowed her growing frustration and crossed her arms. "So… what's your plan now?"
Shotaro wasted no time. "Tell me the best approach to the panchayat," he said, fixing Halasar with a steady gaze.
The ancient elf stroked his beard, his fingers brushing over the countless charms and beads woven into it—each one a relic from an era long past, each one a story in itself. His eyes, veiled beneath the weight of centuries, gleamed with the kind of knowing that turned simple answers into riddles.
"Do you know what an Apsara is?" he asked, his voice thick with the gravity of forgotten wisdom.
Shotaro blinked. "Courtier woman of the gods," he answered without hesitation.
"A what?" Fa Git asked, his brows furrowing.
Paliv, ever the scholar, filled in the gap. "In the Aetherian Bible, it's stated that it is a great sin to wrong a Valkyrie, a Bard, or an Apsara."
She spoke with the crisp precision of someone who had spent a lifetime studying imperial doctrines. But Halasar merely chuckled, the sound like the creaking of ancient wood.
"Yes, Princess," he said, his tone dipping into something almost amused. "You're right."
The way he addressed her—Princess—sent an involuntary shiver down Paliv's spine. It wasn't just a title. It was a reminder. A subtle assertion of lineage. Of history.
She was his descendant. A child of his brother's bloodline. And he, Halasar, had seen generations rise and fall, had seen the echoes of her ancestors etched into the long, winding road of time.
"Apsaras," Halasar continued, his gaze unfocused as if gazing into a past none of them could ever hope to comprehend, "lie with gods. They do not simply know diplomacy—they are diplomacy. They are the whispers behind the greatest empires, the architects of peace, the muses of destruction. To insult an Apsara is to insult the very spirit of divine accord."
The air felt heavier, charged with the weight of history.
"More than mere courtiers," he went on, "they are the voice between war and salvation. They walk the halls of kings, whisper secrets in the ears of emperors, and dictate the fates of entire civilizations—not with swords, but with words that cut just as deep."
Shotaro absorbed this, his expression carefully unreadable, though his mind was already dissecting Halasar's words, unraveling their layered intricacies like an ancient scripture. The weight of history, of celestial politics, of god-touched courtiers spinning entire dynasties with a single whisper—it was a grandiose concept, one that reeked of both wisdom and the manipulations of power.
But he was a pragmatist at heart.
"And how," he asked slowly, voice even, measured, "does that help me approach the panchayat?"
Halasar's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, the kind of smile only an immortal could afford—the smile of someone who had seen civilizations rise, crumble, and be rebuilt on the backs of men who thought they were in control. The old elf leaned in ever so slightly, his beaded beard rustling with the motion, and said,
"Because, my boy, if you wish to deal with those who hold true power, you must speak the language of the gods."
There was a silence. A pregnant, heavy silence, the kind that settled in the bones, demanding interpretation. The weight of ancient philosophy. The echoes of forgotten treaties.
Shotaro's eyes narrowed. His fingers drummed against his arm. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"So basically," he said flatly, "you want me to send an Apsara to the panchayat to fuck them into creating a diplomacy?"
Paliv choked. Fa Git nearly fell over.
Halasar, utterly unfazed, simply let out a hum, tilting his head as though contemplating the statement in all its crude accuracy.
"Ah, yes," he said, nodding in apparent approval. "The move pulled by the King of all Kings."
Shotaro let out a deep, suffering sigh. Of course. Of course it was a power play sanctioned by history itself. The Apsaras, celestial courtiers, divine envoys, women who could bend even the gods to their will—not by force, not by magic, but by sheer, undeniable influence.
It wasn't about sex. Not entirely.
It was about control. About power. About making men believe that what they desired most was something they chose to give away willingly.
And apparently, according to Halasar, this was a strategy as old as the heavens themselves.
Paliv was still struggling to process this information, her imperial sensibilities warring violently with the undeniable reality that—historically speaking—this was effective statecraft.
Fa Git, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and never emerge.
Shotaro sighed again, rubbing his temples. "I hate that this makes sense."