The Devil's Cursed Witch

Outside the palace, a black-haired man in a rather dignified yet reserved attire could be seen walking amongst the trees at the outskirts of Ronan within the Forest of the Elves.

It was the part of the forest where hardly anyone would step foot, unless one wishes to be on his own. Yet on this rather normal day, a rare visitor had visited this place.

Swoosh! Swoosh!

‘Found you.’

Draven’s sharp ears caught the whooshing sounds of training–no, venting–as soon as he went past the outermost circle of trees. His personal attendant, Erlos, had been in a foul mood for the past few days, to the point the young elf acted unusually quiet, pretending  he didn’t exist aside from doing his tasks. His master turned a blind eye on the elf’s behavior, but after Erlos suddenly took a day off, Draven could no longer dismiss what he’s going through.

Being the one who raised him by his side, Draven could guess what’s happening even without asking. It was not the first time he was facing this particular behavior of his servant.

Swoosh!

Draven tilted his head a little to the side and an arrow passed an inch away from his ear—

Thwack!

‘He doesn’t seem to have calmed down yet,’ Draven concluded as the arrow struck the trunk of the tree behind him and continued to walk ahead.

A few more arrows passed by but not a single one hit Draven. Finally, a young silver-haired elf came into sight who was shooting arrows at a row of targets–multiple dried grass tied into the shape of a person’s figure– that were hung to the trees.

As Draven was behind those targets and walking towards the archer, he was directly walking in the direction facing Erlos, and he could clearly see those eyes of his filled with muted rage. He looked nothing like his usual carefree self, his indignant expression giving him the impression of a cornered wounded animal who would bite anyone foolish enough to come close.

Arrows kept passing by Draven as he continued to walk ahead but not a single one was touching him.

Draven reached the row of straw dummies Erlos was trying to shoot, yet despite that, the young elf had no change of expression, as if he could see nothing but those targets.

Draven took a few more steps forward and turned around to look at the targets, but strangely enough, not even a single arrow had hit any of them.

“Your quiver is near empty, but not a single arrow has hit the target?” Draven commented as he eyed the container holding arrows near the elf’s feet. Erlos was a skilled archer who was renowned for never missing a target. Archery was one of the innate skills of the High Elves, and it was impossible for his kind to fail something they found as easy as breathing.

Erlos didn’t reply to him. He merely grabbed a handful of arrows from the quiver, and the next moment, all those straw targets were hit simultaneously by the multiple arrows. It was as if he was saying he missed them all intentionally, and when he wished to, not a single arrow missed its target.

Draven merely glanced at those straw dummies. “Were you waiting for me to provoke you? Is there a need for you to show off your archery skills?”

Erlos still didn’t look at the King as he prepared to shoot more arrows. “I have officially taken time off from my palace duties.”

“I am aware of it,” Draven said as he walked towards the elf.

“Then why is Sire here?” Erlos asked. The next moment, the arrow he let loose hit one of the ropes, snapping it in half, and the target hanging from it fell down.

Draven didn’t find it important to answer him as he knew Erlos was aware why he was there. It was not the first time this was happening.

“Nightmares?” Draven asked.

Erlos pulled another arrow from the quiver and asked in a strangely somber voice, “When will you let me know who killed my parents? If not, then when will you tell me where I can find them? I will settle for anything that will lead me to them.”

Swoosh!

Thwack!

Another target hanging from the tree fell on the ground.

“You are not ready yet,” Draven responded.

“The same answer I have been hearing all these years. It’s been a century, Sire. Those human culprits might have long died but those of our kind who sided with humans are still out there,” Erlos said as he shot another arrow and another target fell down.

“They will face retribution one day,” Draven assured him. “I won’t let them remain unpunished.”

“It is I who lost his parents, relatives, and friends,” Erlos countered as he was ready to shoot another arrow. “I want to do it with my own hands.”

Draven said nothing and casually walked towards the row of fallen targets. Seeing him stand there, Erlos lowered his hands holding the wooden bow with an arrow knocked in it.

The black-haired man turned to face Erlos. “I will give you a chance.”

Those words made the hands holding a bow tremble.

Draven continued, “I will put up a shield in front of me, exactly of the same strength those people used back then. If you manage to break this shield, I will consider telling you their identities.”

Erlos said not a word as he raised his bow back into shooting position. As he let out a shaky breath, he tightened his grip on the arrow he was holding and put his strength on pulling the bow. He closed one of his eyes to focus and put a number of strengthening spells on that arrow.

Even his elemental power, Wind, covered that arrow.

Swoosh!

The young elf seemingly shot a single arrow, but the moment it left the bow, multiple wind arrows appeared out of nowhere and hit that shield all at the same time–

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

–but nothing could affect that invisible shield in front of Draven.