Descendant of Sloth
Chapter 57: Aftermath l

Chapter 57: Aftermath l

Gyosu’s head hit the ground with a low thud, rolling slightly before coming to a still. His body, lifeless and unmoving, remained suspended in the silence of the battlefield. This time, he was truly dead.

A hushed breath escaped the lips of those who bore witness.

"Esther..."

Hina muttered my name under her breath, her hand clutching her chest as if trying to steady her heart. Beside her, Serina remained motionless, watching in quiet silence as the scene unfolded.

The other elves—those who had stood in the range of Gyosu’s attack, bled, and suffered—stood among the wreckage, their gazes heavy with exhaustion and pain. Some clutched at their wounds, while others leaned on their weapons for support. None spoke at first.

Then, like a whisper from the heavens, snow slowly began to fall.

Soft, white flakes descended upon the battlefield, melting as they touched the bloodstained ground. It was as if the sky itself wanted to cleanse the hatred that was burning so fiercely just moments ago.

"Gyosu..."

An elder elf’s voice trembled as he took a step forward, staring at the fallen ancestor’s body.

Murmurs spread through the gathered elves, hushed voices carrying their sorrow.

"It was Gyosu... he was the one who caused this..."

"Serina was right... Esther and Hina were innocent all along..."

Slowly, their anger gave way to grief. They lowered their gazes, shame weighing upon them as they recalled Gyosu’s final words—the seething hatred he held for his own kind.

A pained groan broke through the quiet.

"Arghh... huhh..."

Lala, his body battered and wounded, gasped in pain as a female elf worked desperately to heal him. Her hands glowed faintly with magic, yet before she could continue, Lala suddenly grasped her wrist.

Startled, she looked at him, meeting his eyes—eyes filled with deep sorrow and regret.

"Take it easy," she urged softly. "The wound isn’t closed yet."

Lala exhaled sharply, forcing himself to sit up despite the pain clawing at his body.

"I’m fine... Huff... I’m fine."

His gaze shifted towards Gyosu’s severed head, his throat tightening at the sight.

Gyosu had been his inspiration. The one he admired. The one he had sought out, again and again, trying to learn from him.

But now... he was gone.

Lala’s eyes moved slowly, tracing the battlefield until they landed on me.

I stood there, my back to him, dagger still gripped in my hand. My expression was hidden, unreadable.

Lifting my head slightly, I looked up at the sky, watching as the snow continued to fall.

The dagger in my grasp began to fade, dissolving into nothingness.

My voice, barely a whisper, drifted into the cold air.

"It’s cold..."

I inhaled deeply, letting the crispness of the wind settle in my lungs.

Serina, standing amidst the carnage, swallowed thickly. Her eyes swept over the devastation her team had caused—the lives lost, the mistakes made.

Guilt clenched at her chest, and she lowered her head, fists tightening at her sides.

Then, without warning, a strong gust of wind surged through the battlefield.

It rushed between us, lifting the fallen leaves, sweeping away the last bit of lingering warmth.

And just like that, the battle was over.

Pride is a double-edged sword, a force that can either carve a path toward greatness or lead one into the abyss. It fuels the fire within, allowing individuals to rise above their fears, to defy limits, and accomplish the impossible. It is the reason warriors stand even when their bodies beg to fall, why leaders push forward when the world turns against them.

—Yet, when left unchecked, when twisted into arrogance, it blinds. It makes one deaf to reason, unable to see the suffering left behind their footsteps. Gyosu’s rage, his unwavering pride in the Eladrins, became his greatest strength—until it consumed him. Now, as the snow falls upon the blood-stained earth, we are left to count the dead. Not just him, but the seven outsiders, the countless fallen elves, the innocent lives caught in a mess that never should have been. Strength built on unchecked pride is a blade turned inward, and today, it has cut too deep.

And after all that, the only thing I could say was

"Sighhh, It’s tiring....."

The next morning, we were summoned before the Elven elders. The grand hall, once filled with hostility, now carried a heavy silence. The elders, who had stood in judgment just a day before, now bowed their heads in shame.

"We are deeply sorry for our actions," the eldest among them spoke, his voice solemn. "For doubting you, for treating you as enemies when you were our saviors."

Hina, ever the diplomat, waved her hand with a tense smile. "It’s okay. We understand. Anyone would have reacted the same in an extreme situation."

Meanwhile, I was barely paying attention, lost in my own space, yawning as I sipped on a cup of water. The elder turned his gaze toward me. "Thank you, Esther. Without your help, we would have perished."

Hina nudged me with her elbow, silently urging me to act more respectfully. I let out a deep sigh before bowing alongside her.

From two seats away, Serina sat still, her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes dark with guilt. She didn’t look like she belonged here—not because of the elves’ judgment, but because of her own.

Hina turned to her, eyes gentle. "Serina... come here." She gestured with an open palm.

Serina stiffened, shaking her head. "I... I shouldn’t..."

Before she could finish, I glanced at her, my gaze cold yet firm, silently commanding her to obey. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, hesitating for a moment before rising. With slow, hesitant steps, she sat beside us.

The elves murmured among themselves, their voices laced with anger.

"She was part of Braun’s team."

"She deserves punishment."

"We have every right to execute her here and now."

Guards lined the edges of the hall, hands resting on their weapons. Serina sat rigid, her face pale, prepared to accept whatever fate they decided for her.