Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel

The meeting had been adjourned.

As Prince Silmarien Vael'Ennis exited the Grand Chamber carved deep into the bark of the Father Tree, the sounds of fawning praise behind him grew louder. He turned only once—just long enough to see the crowd of elders surrounding his older brother, Aetherion. They clapped his back, bowed their heads, and murmured words thick with flattery.

"You are your father's son indeed..." "The intruder will become your proving ground." "The next King of the Elves must be you…"

Some even pressed their palms to their chests in reverence, trying to curry favor before the crown was passed. Silmarien watched it all with a blank expression, then turned back to the path ahead.

No one followed him.

No one called out his name.

He exited the capital alone, leaving behind the amber-lit canopies and radiant rune-infused walkways of the inner city.

The quiet hum of nature enveloped him as he passed through the outer rings of the city's living structures. His destination was not within the capital itself, but on its very fringes, nestled at the edge of the wild groves, where civilization blurred with mystery.

From the outside, his home seemed simple—a modest hut nestled under a massive bent willow, half-swallowed by thick vines. Wooden shutters, a stone path, nothing extraordinary. But the inside… that was different.

He stepped through the front door and the soft glow of stasis lanterns flickered on. Stacks of papers and ancient tomes leaned dangerously against shelves, glowing beakers hummed with alchemical power, enchanted scrolls floated lazily midair beside open notebooks. Runes pulsed along the walls, whispering their soft magical thrum in the stillness.

This was a sanctum of mind. A fortress of thought. The kind only a cursed genius could create.

He walked in, pulling his gloves off with a sigh. But as the lights brightened in the central chamber, he stopped.

Sitting calmly in the center of the room, legs crossed, eyes glowing faintly with magic—was Chiron.

Behind him stood the clone of the elf slain at the border, its head bowed slightly in deference.

Silmarien didn't flinch.

He simply rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"If you're looking for the heir to the throne, I think you've taken a wrong turn. I can literally draw you a map to Aetherion's tree-castle. Though, unlike me, he's not likely to serve you tea."

Chiron didn't blink. His gaze was sharp, focused, his expression unreadable. But his voice came, calm and sure.

"I knew I was making the right decision when I came here."

Silmarien arched a brow, crossing his arms. "And what makes you say that?"

Chiron stood up slowly, letting the quiet stretch. He took a step closer.

"Because only a mind like yours… the kind that sees the world as data and dust... would look upon a killer of your kin and offer him tea."

"You didn't scream. You didn't draw a weapon. That tells me everything I need."

Then he leaned forward, just slightly.

"Don't worry. You can be your true self here. I have no problem appreciating—or unleashing—a man of incredible intellect."

At that, something shifted.

Silmarien stood taller. He straightened his back, and when his eyes met Chiron's, they gleamed—not with fear, but arrogance.

It sent a ripple of delight down Chiron's spine.

This… was the real Silmarien. The monster hiding behind spectacles and slouched shoulders. The mind buried beneath a nation's expectations.

And Chiron remembered.

From the novel he wrote in his old life—this elf was no normal side character. He was a titan, hidden behind a thin curtain of disinterest. The quiet storm. The true spine behind the Mc's victories.

But most importantly—Silmarien had a dream.

A dark, bitter one.

He hated the Elven race. Hated the God King who created him. Hated the trees, the pride, the songs, the traditions… hated everything that had shaped him.

He longed for one thing: to erase it all.

Back in Chiron's novel, the naïve Mc had promised him "freedom." Had tried to save his soul. Never fulfilled the elf's darkest wish. And so, in the final arc, Silmarien had betrayed him, choosing the demons instead.

But Chiron… was no hero.

He smiled coldly.

"How would you like to see the Elven race suffer?"

Silmarien's lips parted slowly. And then he grinned.

"It would seem," he said with the gleam of long-restrained madness in his voice,

"We'll be needing a very large pot for that tea."

Both men smiled—intellect and insanity, ambition and cruelty—mirrored in their eyes like twin suns.

——

Outside the Cardinal Forbidden Zone of Pride, the land was silent, but tension stained the air like blood on silk. The lush greenery surrounding the ancient entrance bore scorch marks from earlier clashes. Broken trees stood like wounded sentinels, their trunks splintered, roots torn from the earth. Overhead, the skies had darkened with omen-heavy clouds.

Emma stood there—alone.

Behind her, the path into the Cardinal Forbidden Zone had sealed shut. A shimmering wall of illusionary pride-mist now pulsed with Runes. making any form of reentry impossible for those not blessed to endure it.

And before her—blocking her escape—stood Lady Selene Von Temperance, her golden armor gleaming even beneath the dull sky, her black hair falling like a curtain of judgment around her flawless, cold face. Beside her, a battalion of Holy Church knights and paladins stood in tight formations, their spears glowing faintly with consecrated energy.

Emma narrowed her eyes.

This wasn't ideal.

Combat was not her forte—and especially not when her enemies were trained knights. Her gifts lay in shadow, deception, seduction, sex, deaires and manipulation.

Selene raised a single hand, and the battalion stepped forward, weapons raised. But she did not yet give the command to attack. Instead, she locked eyes with Emma and smiled.

"where is he?... Chiron Chivalry. I'll break him."

Emma folded her arms, her cloak fluttering in the wind. "My, my. Still hung up on the fact that mastee knows who fathered your child?"

Selene's eyes flared with lightning, but she didn't speak. Her silence was confirmation enough.

Emma smirked—knowing her wound still stung. So she added more. She had learnt a thing or two from Chiron.

"Let's not pretend your virtue was ever spotless. After all, your child was born after you passed out on a battlefield. Such a mystery. One you haven't solved for over two decades."

One of the younger knights stepped forward with a growl, "Do you want us to cut her tongue out, Lady Selene?"

But Selene raised a hand. "No. I want to hear what the snake says next. Her death will be more… satisfying if she screams first."

Emma's mind was already racing.

She couldn't fight her way through. But what she could do was study her environment.

Her eyes scanned the terrain behind the Holy Church formation. There was a steep hill to the east, partially covered in dense foliage, and further beyond that—a ridge overlooking the sea. If she could make it to the ridge, there were a few signal charms Chiron had left buried there—things he learnt from manu's memory.

Those snakes would help.

But how to reach it?

That was the real question.

So she stalled.

She lowered her voice and looked Selene dead in the eye. "I know you want to find the Elven Kingdom. That's the real reason you're here, isn't it? You think master found the entrance. You think I know where it is..."

Selene's eyes twitched ever so slightly. Emma saw it. That glimmer of curiosity beneath her rage....